


Invalidations

by Latromi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Fallen Angel Gabriel (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Rape, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 76,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latromi/pseuds/Latromi
Summary: Gabriel has gone missing. Crowley is left incoherent, terrified, and trapped in Heaven with angels who don't understand why. Heaven contacts Aziraphale because he's the only one with decent knowledge of Crowley from their time together on Earth. While Heaven investigates Gabriel's disappearance, Aziraphale puts Crowley back together, and Gabriel's return proves far more devastating than any of them expected.Invalidations takes place following the events ofchapter 30ofRepossessionbyDreamsofSpike. It serves as a lengthy alternate ending. This story can be read without reading Repossession, but please do consider giving the inspiration work a read!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 213
Kudos: 184
Collections: Repossession and Repo-verse Works





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 



> This story would not be possible without [DreamsofSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsofSpike)! Not only did she write the core story of [ Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115/), but she also helped brainstorm and beta read! It has turned into a far more compelling, polished work with all of her advice! I'm SO incredibly grateful for her support of this project! 
> 
> Truly, DreamsofSpike, I cannot thank you enough! This idea would have died not long after I suggested it in the comment section of Repo if you hadn't been so supportive.
> 
> Additional shoutouts to my best friends, [Dalibar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalibar) and [Istas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/istas). They have heard the excitement, frustration, and everything in-between when it comes to my writing and planning process for this monster of a story. I've bounced countless ideas off them, read the timeline to them more times than I care to think about, and read them draft after draft of the story as I've been writing it and editing it. 
> 
> This story DOES have an ending planned, although I'm not fully done with writing it all just yet. While the tag says "eventual happy ending" it may be closer to "eventual good ending". It's not going to end in total misery, promise!
> 
> That being said, Repossession is dark. Invalidations jumps in around a time when it's quite escalated, and does NOT hit the breaks. Things are going to get quite bad before they get better. If torture or non-con bothered you in Repo, it's not going to be any easier here. 
> 
> But if that's the kind of content you are looking for, then hopefully this will be a satisfying read!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter contains torture and non-con.

"I am not even _close_ to done with you, sweetheart." Gabriel tossed Crowley back into the cell. "You really messed up this time, and when I get back you'll find out just how badly."

Crowley went limp and allowed the cold stone floor to hold him. He had spent hours tensed up and fearful beneath Gabriel's fury and was more than eager for the break. Gabriel's orders and expectations had stopped making sense. Everything Crowley did was wrong. Everything Crowley didn't do was wrong. Nothing changed the outcome for Crowley; every session with Gabriel ended with the Archangel more wrathful than the last.

Crowley’s current existence was pain, and it was exhausting in a way no previous torture had been. 

He had done everything he could to please Gabriel and pass the test in front of Michael. As he had learned was so often the case with Gabriel... it was not enough. His perfect performance meant nothing. Causing his own body harm with the knife and suffering the all-encompassing agony of the collar meant nothing.

He failed the moment Aziraphale was mentioned. Crowley had no idea why he had believed for any moment his perfection in every other category of the testing process might have spared him from being an utter failure.

Perhaps it was the fact that the test wasn’t only in front of Gabriel. The very concept that Gabriel _wasn’t_ the singular mind behind all of this, as if he _wasn’t_ in control of _everything,_ was something that Crowley occasionally looked back on between winces of suffering with bitter laughter caught tight in his throat.

Perhaps it was the fact that Gabriel himself had seemed to set Crowley up for failure of the test; he’d stopped asking about Aziraphale so long ago that Crowley actually had some hope deep down that Aziraphale was safe and was free from all the messy inconveniences loving Crowley had ever caused him.

Crowley had long since lost hope he’d ever see Aziraphale again, and mostly lost hope that Aziraphale would be anything but disgusted if he ever found out what the Archangel had made of him. 

Crowley no longer imagined them together at the park, with Aziraphale feeding the ducks. He no longer thought fondly of them once again whispering over wine at a brand new fancy, cozy, or otherwise oddly unique restaurant that was tucked in or around London. 

Crowley no longer imagined seeing Aziraphale's expression brighten upon finding that his favorite restaurants were still operating; so many of them were overburdened by the intensity of small business ownership that they disappeared as quickly as they popped into existence. He no longer imagined the satisfaction that came with secretly performing a demonic intervention for his angel - a minor banking error here or tiny contract alteration there never hurt anyone. He no longer imagined basking in the warm glow of his angel blissfully overindulging in these places and knowing that without him, they'd have been long gone.

Crowley no longer imagined Aziraphale in his arms or in his bed. He no longer imagined himself lounging away the afternoon by napping in the serenity of the bookshop's backroom and waking up to Aziraphale’s smile. He no longer thought about how often that smile was paired with an upward twitch of Aziraphale's brow that always served to invite Crowley to do whatever the angel pleased.

Imagining them together was too painful; Crowley knew none of those things would ever happen again, so to think of them brought him no peace. Aziraphale was a shining beacon in the darkness - one that brightened the bleak gloom of his mind, but if he looked directly for too long, or too closely, he'd only suffer for doing so. His hopes couldn't be crushed if he never let them grow in the first place.

Instead, Crowley imagined Aziraphale alone, going about his existence in peace. He hoped the angel still did all the little things Crowley always loved watching him indulge in. He hoped Aziraphale could still enjoy the things they had grown accustomed to sharing together. The angel might have a few of his new favourite food places come and go without Crowley there to silently, miraculously keep them open despite staying some of the best kept secrets in London. Crowley would deny having any part in those cases, but sometimes he just wanted their date night all to themselves. He imagined Aziraphale perhaps delighting in discovering new things in his absence, even though the finicky angel often abhorred change. 

Crowley hoped the change of himself being gone would at the very least earn his angel’s safety. He wanted that more than anything, even if Aziraphale had betrayed Crowley to save himself. Crowley wanted Aziraphale safe and warm with his cocoa, settled down for a long, uninterrupted read in his silly old bookshop, without a care in the world. 

Thinking about Aziraphale being so uniquely Aziraphale, for all the myriad, ridiculous reasons Crowley had ever loved the angel, was the only thing that could occasionally distract Crowley from the incessant torment. 

Torment that was not all physical. Being left alone in pain for long enough always caused Crowley’s thoughts to spiral. Gabriel had said that, when questioned, Aziraphale told Heaven all about Crowley's attempts to make him fall. But if that were true, then why would Michael have asked about Aziraphale at all? Had Gabriel simply told Michael to ask him about Aziraphale so that Crowley would be doomed to failure? Crowley had no idea what to believe.

He knew none of the answers mattered.

Crowley also knew that things had not exactly gone as Gabriel had threatened. They didn’t go back to the start. They had changed, but definitely couldn’t be described as going _back._

The start was a walk in the park compared to the reality Crowley was now trapped in. Crowley would have begged to be cut with the holy blade or gagged by the holy water soaked rag. He would have begged to be blinded again, most days, rather than this. Crowley actually missed the punishment of the collar over the types of physically and mentally straining torture Gabriel had begun to incorporate into the times when he had finished taking pleasure from Crowley's body. 

Gabriel's latest obsession was placing Crowley in impossible positions to maintain until his muscles gave out, or leaving him bowed against the floor with strict orders to remain still while diluted holy water was somehow draped over, dripped on, or held inside him.

Crowley would gratefully have accepted this treatment endlessly, had he known how much worse it would get.

Gabriel walked into the cell and snapped his fingers as he approached Crowley. Chains appeared through the rings in his wings and abruptly pulled taut. Crowley struggled to bite back a noise of surprise as he was wrenched to his feet by the metal in his wings alone. Another snap from the Archangel - now standing directly in front of Crowley - bound the demon’s legs apart. A thick, heavy metal bar connected to cuffs at Crowley’s heels, preventing him from changing his stance. The second snap also pulled Crowley’s arms out, away from his body and leaving him incapable of hiding or protecting any part of himself. 

Gabriel was holding a bowl filled with holy water. Inside the bowl were many thin strands of something dark. A table was miracled up right in front of Crowley and the bowl was set aside.

“I have just given you a gift, Crowley,” the Archangel said with a cold, expectant tone. “I believe you should be thanking me for that.”

Refusing to thank Gabriel could result in the Archangel removing the restraints. Although there was no part of Crowley that enjoyed being restrained, the thought of extra freedom terrified Crowley; the bowl of holy water promised him that he would not be able to endure the consequences that came with such allowances. 

“Yes. Sorry, master. Thank you for binding me.” Crowley thanked his master with all the sweetness, sincerity, and fear he could muster. He knew what Gabriel liked, most days. Crowley really did try to please his master, to end this endless downpour of misery.

Gabriel made a somewhat pleased noise in response while he circled Crowley. His fingers ran across Crowley’s body in an appraising manner. It was not much different from a sculptor envisioning their creation in their mind before starting their work, except Crowley’s body was the medium and torture was Gabriel’s masterpiece.

Just like the test and so many other times before it, nothing Crowley could have said or done would have stopped Gabriel. A few weeks prior, Crowley might have questioned his master and actually asked why.

Crowley already knew the only answers to that question were: _“You deserve it,” “You failed, sweetheart,”_ and, _“Because I want to.”_

Crowley simply let his gaze settle on a particular spot on the ground and did his best to endure what was to come. He said nothing and hoped his small, startled noise from being hauled to his feet by his wings wouldn't make his punishment worse somehow.

Eventually, Gabriel stopped circling and had reached for the first strip that was soaking in the bowl. It was roughly half as wide as Crowley’s pinky, and was highly flexible. Gabriel wrung the extra holy water from it, then wrapped it around Crowley’s upper arm, tucked in near his armpit. It seared badly enough that his breath faltered for a few long moments. He still couldn’t tell what it was, but Gabriel was tying it snugly before miracling away the excess and the knot. The result was a perfect, unbroken loop, wrapped tightly around him and burning from the holy water it had been soaking in.

It took several more pieces being secured for Crowley to identify the material through the far more attention-holding pain of the holy water. The strips were leather. He could finally smell it now that there were about a half dozen on his arms. 

Gabriel was precise. He would step back and give a look at his work now and then. Whether to admire his own progress, to enjoy Crowley’s expressions and slightly shaking form, or to try to keep the lines even, Crowley could only guess.

Crowley looked at the number of strips still in the bowl and whimpered slightly. Dozens more were still left.

Gabriel continued on, affixing Crowley’s body with more and more lines of excruciating, searing pain. Each strip was squeezed tightly for a moment in Gabriel’s hand above the bowl, excess holy water dripping back down Gabriel’s arm. A minor miracle kept his suit from ever showing a single drop of moisture, the visual of his hands at odds with his clothes. Then, the strip wrung out, Gabriel would add it to Crowley’s body.

Even more terrifying than the pain was Gabriel’s chilling silence. Once the raw fury had run out, he rarely said a word. The Archangel loved the sound of his own voice, and he didn’t even give Crowley that much to latch on to through his various torture sessions.

“Master, _please_ ,” Crowley hoarsely whispered through his tears, when the pain became too much to bear. Doing so was a risk, and Crowley knew that. There were times the words caused Gabriel to pause, to stroke his hair almost affectionately. The action would give Crowley precious few seconds to breathe and calm himself. Twice, Gabriel even wiped Crowley’s tears away, although his thumb did linger dangerously close to Crowley’s eye the first time, eliciting a shiver from the demon. When the second instance of this lingering touch failed to provoke enough fear from Crowley, Gabriel instead pressed threateningly at his eyelid, hard enough to make Crowley cry out in distress. 

For every time Crowley’s begging brought some form of relief, there were just as many times his pleas only encouraged Gabriel to become harsher, more brutal and demanding.

This time his words seemed to fall on deaf ears. The strips were tied tightly around his arms, legs and wings. Two were placed around his neck, just above and below his collar. They were evenly spaced, about two to three fingers between each one. 

At last, the final strip was removed from the bowl and tied off successfully. Crowley disguised a sigh of relief as a slow, shuddered outward breath. Gabriel grabbed Crowley by the hair and snapped away the chains, then forced Crowley back down to his knees with his head pressed to the stone. 

“Stay still. I expect you to be in exactly this position when I return,” Gabriel threatened. “And if you _dare_ remove any of the leather, I will pull off your arms, along with whatever limb you decided to remove it from. Then I will add even more strips across even more of your body, twice as tight. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.” Crowley couldn’t stop himself from shivering with pain and fear at the threat. “I promise I won’t move. I promise.”

Gabriel said nothing more. He simply rose with a final sharp shove to Crowley’s head before stalking out of the room with angry purpose in his stride. Crowley was left alone to endure the burning of the wet leather digging into him.

It hadn't occurred to Crowley as the leather was tied to him that the holy water had only been half of the torture. He had no idea why he thought Gabriel would be back sooner to remove them.

Holy water no longer was the source of his pain. Gabriel did not return until long after the water had evaporated and the burning had ceased. By now, the strips had dried out and shrunken down, cutting viciously into his skin, restricting Crowley more fully and wretchedly than any form of restraint Crowley had ever been subjected to before.

It was actually a mockery of restraint that had Crowley wishing Gabriel had left him strung up in the chains. 

Crowley’s arms were free; he was otherwise entirely unrestrained. The worst part was not moving when he technically had the ability to. As the leather had begun to dry, the slow constriction made Crowley _want_ to move. His body seemed to genuinely believe that shifting or flexing would bring him relief from the pressure, but doing so just made all the leather strips dig in more cruelly. 

It was the strips on his neck that most tempted and tormented him. They choked him, made breathing difficult and only hurt more anytime he tensed, shifted ever so slightly, or swallowed.

He had no idea how long he had been left kneeling on the cold stone this time. Crowley was curled over himself, his head against the slabs of rock beneath him. He could feel the imprint on his forehead and his knees. It likely would have looked silly if the circumstances were different, if he was even allowed to move enough to reveal how the press of the stone had shaped his skin.

The leather had shaped his skin too, although Crowley tried very hard _not_ to think about that. 

Time crawled slower than Crowley would have been able to, if such movement had been allowed.

When Crowley heard Gabriel’s footsteps nearing him, his entire being instantly became focused on the slightest movement he could hear from the Archangel. He shifted Crowley into several different positions, and seemed to gauge the reactions it caused. Gabriel then wordlessly stepped back. There was a long, silent pause, while Crowley begged desperately in his mind for Gabriel to remove the strips.

Then, chillingly, Gabriel asked softly, but with fury still clear in his tone. “Did I say you could move yet, sweetheart?”

Crowley broke down into immediate apology and flew back into the position he had been in when Gabriel entered the cell. His entire body trembled in fear, and his muscles twitched with the immense rush of agony as he resumed the pose that beyond Gabriel, only the Almighty herself could know how long Crowley had stayed in. He yearned for an opportunity to pick any other arrangement of his limbs and knew there would be none. 

“-m -rry, -ster. Please. I didn’t know, master. I’m sorry.” Crowley’s words were choked off and hissed from pain.

“You did know. Clearly you failed to remember. I guess the strips aren’t painful enough. We can fix that.” Gabriel sounded only mildly disappointed just before he snapped his fingers and Crowley found himself pulled from the floor and chained up the same way as the day the strips were put on him.

“Please, master. I’m sorry.” Crowley kept his eyes shut tight and his head tilted away, but an urgency rose in his voice as Crowley felt Gabriel touch one of the embedded strips. The touch was followed by a flicker of energy and the feeling of the leather loop abruptly breaking open. Then, Gabriel pulled the strip away, relieving the pressure but also exposing and distressing an angry, inflamed wound. There were no other words Crowley was really permitted to say anymore, so he didn’t try, although even his permitted words, mostly unrecognizable for the sounds they were at this point, were cut off with a hand grasping Crowley’s hair and jerking his head back.

“Shut _up_ and _stand still_. Your nonsense struggles are going to make this take far longer than it needs to.” Gabriel’s voice was so close to his ear that the whispered snarl was felt on the side of his face.

It did not take more than that to still and silence Crowley. Tears welled up and began flowing while Gabriel slowly removed the leather, but the demon barely twitched in the chains. 

When a particularly nasty strip of leather was removed, one that had embedded enough to pull a line of skin along with it, Crowley was unable to hold back a howl of pain as he pulled at the chains. Gabriel snapped his fingers and had Crowley’s limbs stretched even more painfully tight to hold him still. 

“Shh, it’s okay. Relax.” Gabriel soothed him, falsely gentle. “I am going to make sure you remember. You won’t fail me next time, sweetheart, I promise.”

Crowley wanted no such promise. The idea of it made him sick.

Eventually, Gabriel stopped removing strips, leaving only the frustratingly tight two around Crowley’s neck. Crowley stood trembling and barely able to stand. Had the chains not been holding him up, Crowley was sure he would have collapsed. He yearned for the opportunity to curl up on the cold stone and let his wounds heal. The dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach told him Gabriel was far from done. 

Gabriel gave Crowley a menacing grin before snapping once. Another bowl of holy water filled with leather strips soaking within it had been miracled in front of Crowley. It was on the same conjured table from the first time. 

The lump of leather in the bowl was bigger this time. Crowley’s stomach felt incredibly uneasy. He did his best not to break down into tears at the sight. One tear did betray him to roll down his cheek. Gabriel wiped it away before getting right to work.

Gabriel took his time putting the fresh holy water strips on despite Crowley’s every effort to remain motionless. These strips were wider, and Gabriel was tying them in the exact same places as the first time. They would open his existing wounds up painfully when they dried and tightened against his skin. The burn of the holy water was quick to distract him from the horror to come as they dried. It pulled him into the distress of the immediate torture and prevented the dread of the future from building in his mind.

Instead of freeing Crowley and shoving him into position once Gabriel had finished applying the wet leather, he unfastened his suit pants and took pleasure from the demon’s stretched form held tightly by the chains.

Part of Crowley’s mind was almost grateful for the distraction, and for Gabriel not leaving him alone to suffer right away. Rape had long ago become a break from the boredom of being locked away with nothing to do, and now it had become an almost welcome, easier form of suffering to endure. Being raped didn’t hurt half as much as the holy water. The violation was bad, sure, and _it did hurt_ , but it was something _not_ holy water related to think about and focus on, and Crowley knew that soon such luxuries would no longer exist.

Once Gabriel was done, a snap of his fingers released Crowley from the chains. “Back in position,” he ordered. “And don’t even _think_ about moving.” 

Crowley did as he was told despite his body’s demand that he do _anything_ else; he had already spent ages in this position, and returning to it was terrible beyond thought or words. Crowley only allowed himself to tremble in fear, allowed the tears to overcome him, but only once Gabriel had left the cell.

From that moment on, coherent thought slowly left Crowley as his body was dragged from one form of pain to the next, as the wet leather seared his already wounded limbs. Crowley was thankful that the leather on his neck had been left untouched from the first session. The two strips lacked the burning heat of the holy water, although they were frustratingly tight and hindered his breathing. Replacing those with tighter strips may have torn him from Heaven.

Crowley was too far gone from pain and too accustomed to Gabriel's precision to be upset at the opportunity for discorporation being so carefully avoided. If the Archangel hadn't accidentally discorporated him by now through any of his much more enraged states, then he certainly wasn't going to make such a mistake now. 

Soon, all Crowley could hear was his own ragged, sobbing breaths - and the incoherent rambling that was mostly in his head. Delirious with pain, he could no longer distinguish between the thoughts in his mind and words spoken aloud. Was he hearing words from his own lips, or the responses of a stranger in the room with him? Every now and then, he thought he heard movement, and begged someone, anyone, for help, or mercy, or to please just do something. 

Nobody came to his rescue. The torture continued on. The holy water dried. The leather tightened and dug into wounds that had been given no time or miracle for healing.

Eventually, he thought he heard questions being asked of him. He was positive he heard the cell door more than once as well. Was Gabriel coming in, checking on him, and leaving without a word?

Was the door to the cell actually opening and closing at all?

Who kept asking questions? More than once the questions sounded more like begging.

Distantly, some part of his mind recognized that the questions and answers were both coming from himself; but he still wasn’t sure if anyone was actually coming and going from his cell. Time and pain and sound all bled together.

Bleeding. Yeah, Crowley was sure he was doing a fair amount of that, as well. Crowley knew some of his limbs were bleeding fairly badly, because the leather had actually loosened in places for a while as it absorbed blood and expanded once more. Of course, after that, it only redried and cut back into him again. It was a horrible cycle of pain and not quite relief across his limbs.

Crowley drifted mostly untethered between states of misery and incoherence until he thought he heard Gabriel’s voice above him.

Hearing voices was far from new. He had heard Aziraphale calling to him. He had heard Michael talking down to him and informing him of his failure. He had heard Gabriel more than once too, but this voice sounded distant in a way that felt impossible for his mind to imagine, and was accompanied by equally distant footsteps. Still, nothing felt entirely real except the pain, these days. He wasn’t permitted to lift his head and look, so there was no way to know.

“Please, somebody. Anybody. Help. I can’t-” Crowley gasped at the sound of a voice that he was mostly sure was not his own. Crowley had cried out for help when the pain got bad more than once. Sometimes when he thought he wasn’t alone, other times when he was sure that he was. 

He waited several seconds but heard nothing in response. It seemed nobody was listening after all; the voice was all in his head. He was distraught and holding back tears. Crowley had thought the voice had been real this time. The concept of remaining in isolation weighed on him. Grief and desolation threatened to pull him to shreds.

Crowley continued to beg. There was no reason to hold back anymore; he knew the only reply he'd receive would be silence. “Go- Sat- Somebody, please, help me.” 

The voice that sounded like Gabriel asked, quietly, “What did you say, sweetheart?”

Crowley froze. He hadn't expected a response. It was much closer to him this time - close enough and clear enough to make out the words. None of Crowley's imagined voices had ever changed distances before, they always sounded distant.

A small amount of dread that maybe he _wasn't_ alone welled up within Crowley. It held him back from fully believing there would be _no_ consequences for his answer, but the vast majority of his mind was too far gone to do anything but tell the truth. He repeated what he believed his previous set of words were. “I said… somebody, please, help me.”

The hand on his shoulder that was most _definitely_ Gabriel’s shot Crowley’s awareness into sharp focus. No doubt was left in Crowley. This was Gabriel, not just a voice in his mind. He felt the hands pulling at him, encouraging Crowley to sit upright. 

“Please, master. Please,” Crowley begged and resisted the movement being urged by the hand above him. The effort to hold the position caused the leather to cut into him and made him whine with desperation. Crowley wasn’t allowed to move even if the hand insisted otherwise. He was being tested, and Crowley couldn't fail a second time.

“You can move now, Crowley. I give you permission. Now sit up and look at me.” His voice was simmering with a barely constrained fury - he sounded on the verge of smacking Crowley down the moment he rose as commanded. Crowley knew he had taken too long to obey, because Gabriel’s tone darkened. 

“ _Now._ ”

Crowley sat up. His arms and legs were simultaneously relieved and enraged at the shift. He looked up at Gabriel as commanded, although everything in his being had been so long and often trained against it. Gabriel’s eyes were intensely violet, and threatened violence to break out at any moment. Gabriel’s lips were set into a thin line of displeasure. He said nothing, only glared down at Crowley with an expression that told Crowley he should be doing something.

He had done as Gabriel asked. What else did Gabriel want?

“I think that’s what I said? S-somebody help me? Anybody, really. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.” Crowley stammered in fear. He already knew he had been caught in something very serious. How long had Gabriel been listening to him ramble while he wasn’t entirely coherent? How much longer was Gabriel going to allow him to ramble now? “I know I don’t deserve help. I deserve to suffer. Nobody should help me. And nobody ever will help me. I know that. I’m sorry.”

There was a brief flicker across Gabriel's expression. A quickly suppressed rage. Crowley wondered how often that happened while he was ordered to never be looking at his master directly. 

While the flicker of rage was new, the tone that followed was very familiar and made Crowley's stomach drop. It was falsely light in a way that signaled to Crowley that if he wasn't already sorry, then he was about to be. "I don't think so, sweetheart. You weren’t asking for just anyone. You were asking _Her_."

Crowley broke down, breaking eye contact and trying to curl in on himself, to cover his stomach. He wanted to say 'no', but knew the word to be forbidden. Crowley shivered and rushed to get out the next best words he could think of. "I - I wasn't. I - I would never."

He would. He just hadn't done it in a very long time. Not since his days of longing for Aziraphale and being too terrified to get close. He had asked Her then for any sign that their love might be okay. When he had received nothing but silence for his requests for signs, Crowley had changed his request to Her. He had begged Her to give Aziraphale the strength to resist him, to push Crowley away and protect his dear angel from Falling.

"Yeah, Crowley, pretty sure you were. Are you lying to me?" The anger was not yet winning the fight in Gabriel's voice but the score had to be close. He sounded highly irritated, but not yet angry.

"I- I..." Crowley scavenged around in his mind for the right words to explain himself and knew there ultimately were none to give. Instead, he apologized and hoped Gabriel would move on, although the flicker of rage told Crowley that hope should never have been allowed to exist. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, master."

Gabriel's tone softened and became far more patient once Crowley apologized. He knelt down and curled a finger under Crowley's chin to get the demon to look at him once more. " _What_ are you sorry for, Crowley?" 

"For everything." The response flew off his lips faster than it reached his brain. Although it was true, he knew it wasn't the answer Gabriel wanted. 

A dark part of his mind was grateful Gabriel didn't use Crowley's lack of thought over the last response as an excuse to unleash his rage. "No, Crowley. _What exactly_ are you apologizing for? For lying? Or for believing yourself somehow _worthy_ of being saved by _Her?"_

"Both, master." Crowley knew apologizing for it all couldn’t possibly hurt. He wanted to look away but was afraid to. His eyes flickered across Gabriel’s face, far too close to his own.

"Can you tell me _why_ it's unacceptable to believe she might save you, Crowley?" Gabriel’s voice was still patient, although his eyes remained intense and scrutinizing. 

Crowley’s response was barely audible as fear seemed to devour the air directly from his lungs. "I'm a demon. I'm not worthy." 

"That is true.” Gabriel stated mildly before allowing his voice to sharpen considerably. “But it's not all. What else?" The last two words were snarled threateningly.

Crowley was confused. He had no idea what Gabriel wanted him to say here. "I - I don't understand, master. I'm sorry."

The harshness fell from Gabriel's tone at that response. "That's okay, sweetheart. I'll help you understand." He stood up and backed away from Crowley, who began to tremble in anxiety over how this would be accomplished. He was already in _so much pain_. 

In panic, Crowley forced out a, "Th-thank you, master." He hoped it would lessen whatever Gabriel was about to do.

Crowley had not at all been expecting the reality of the next words from Gabriel's mouth; they were delivered with a mix of arrogance and pride.

"Pray. Ask Her for mercy. Pray for her to save you."

His trembling only worsened as he spoke. "I - I can't. I am sorry, master. I won’t ever ask for mercy aga-." 

"You can.” Gabriel cut him off. “I'm ordering you to. You were already doing it before I returned. Poorly. Not that doing it properly would have changed the result.” He sounded only certain, not angry. He could have been explaining something simple to a child. The Archangel paused, and Crowley saw him fold his hands in front of himself, waiting with patience in his very posture as he continued to speak. “Pray to Her properly, this time. Address Her correctly. Beg Her."

He didn’t feel there was any way he could possibly do this correctly, not to the standard of an Archangel. Sure, Crowley had attempted to speak to the Almighty since his Fall, but he hadn’t been part of Heaven in so long that Crowley was sure time alone was going to work against him. Still, Crowley looked above himself, clasped his hands together in front of his chest, and began to pray. “Oh, L-Lord. I - I know I am not worthy, but please, please help me. The pain, it’s so much, it’s too much. I’ve learned my lesson, L-Lord, please have mercy.”

Gabriel stalked over to Crowley, gripping his hair and shoving Crowley's head down until his chin hit his chest. The severity of the motion caused a bright pang to flash across his jaw as his teeth snapped audibly with the motion. His hands were slammed to the cold of the stone next, fingers opened and palms pressed flat. For a few seconds, one of Gabriel's shoes covered Crowley's hand, threatening with firm pressure to grind down and wordlessly warning Crowley against movement.

The disgust Crowley was so often used to hearing from Gabriel was back in the Archangel’s voice yet again. “You think you have the _right_ to look in Her direction while addressing Her? I don’t think so, sweetheart. Again.”

Crowley repeated his prayer in the new position. He could feel Gabriel towering over him as he started over; his voice was weak and terrified and trembling just as much as the first time. Many of the sibilants were hissed and drawn out as his panic rose. “Oh, L-Lord. I - I know I am not worthy, but pleasse, please help me. The pain, it’s sso much, it’ss too much. I’ve l-learned my lessson L-Lord, pleasse have mercy.” 

“No.” Gabriel said above him sternly. “You honestly expect Her to listen to you just beg Her like that? Thank Her. Thank Her for everything She’s given you. Show Her your love. Show Her your gratitude.”

“I am sorry, master.” Crowley stalled with an apology. He had no idea where to begin in thanking Her. He found the idea gut-wrenching. Instead of thanking Her for anything specific, Crowley decided to go with things he believed Gabriel himself would like to hear. “Oh L-Lord. T-Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to c-continue living my worthless existence. Thank you for sshowing me my true purpose, serving your g-greatest angels. Thank you for your l-love, and giving me sso many chances to learn, d-despite all my mistakes. Please, L-Lord. I’m in sso much p-pain right now. Please have mercy on me, Lord.” He did everything he could to sound genuinely thankful, even loving, perhaps adoring, as he spoke.

Gabriel leaned in. The disgust from earlier had faded somewhat, leaving only an unimpressed ripple in its wake. “Not bad, sweetheart. But I think you ought to drop the pretenses. Address Her as She is. Directly. None of this ‘Lord’ nonsense. You could be speaking to a mortal, with a name like that. And truthfully, you don’t sound like you need saving at all, Crowley. You don’t sound like you are suffering. You want Her to save you from all this pain but I don’t believe it. Are you actually in enough pain to be asking Her for mercy, Crowley?”

A bright flash of sudden agony shot through Crowley’s wing as Gabriel gripped tight around one of the inflamed, torn gashes caused by the leather splitting his skin. Crowley moaned as the Archangel continued his assault. “Yes, master. I am. I am sorry. Please.” He had gotten skilled at speaking through the physical trauma, so even his apologies and pleas toward Gabriel lacked some element the Archangel was apparently looking for. 

“Do you want to pray properly?” Gabriel’s grip shifted to Crowley’s arm, yet again digging into a swollen, angry line that bled more with the disturbance.

“I do, master!” Crowley replied without pause between clenched teeth, biting through pain.

“Then stop holding it in. Show Her how much you need Her mercy.” Gabriel's voice was threateningly near once more as he growled impatiently.

“Please, master, sorry, master” was all Crowley could say in response. There was no way he could continue his prayers under the assault. Crowley repeated pleas and apologies; his pitch rose close to a whine while he failed to keep still. He never pulled away or fought back, but he ended up breaking his position as Gabriel did not relent. His struggles only provoked more severity, and a punch at Crowley's stomach, which would have made Crowley wail if the blow hadn't knocked the air from him first. Crowley twisted and tensed, keening and desperate for Gabriel to stop. 

There was no respite in sight. 

There may not be answers to his prayers. God may or may not be watching, but She had done nothing for so long that Crowley doubted anything he said or did would change that. If She was waiting for something specific, there would be no way for Crowley to know.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was there watching him like a hawk. Unlike God, Crowley would be swiftly told by Gabriel how to act, or what to say. The times he didn't, he was no different than the indifferent Almighty Herself. Crowley knew nothing of getting God to show mercy, but he usually knew what Gabriel wanted.

Crowley gave in and allowed the attack without any resistance. He accepted the rough handling and allowed his body to go mostly pliable despite the anguish every new grapple induced. Crowley slowly pulled himself back into his prayer pose and went silent apart from the breaths he still heaved to weather the aggression. The painful grabbing and digging fingers into the wounds across his limbs ceased immediately once Crowley's struggles subsided. He felt tears streaking his cheeks as he gave a shaky exhale in relief.

Gabriel switched to stroking tenderly through Crowley’s sweat-damp hair the second tears moved down the demon’s face, and his tone shifted toward warmth. He sounded encouraging. “That’s it. Just like that, sweetheart. Continue your prayers. Oh, and drop the hissing and stammering, too.” 

“Yes, master,” Crowley gasped out between sobs, utterly exhausted as he prayed one last time. He combined everything Gabriel had taught him with nearly effortless perfection. His tone was loving, adoring, but full of humility and suffering. His posture was subdued and pleading, lowered and splayed open for any judgment that might be given. He cried openly as he prayed, tears hitting the stone between his palms as he spoke. Crowley was too defeated by Gabriel to stammer or hiss. He composed himself with a deep, shuddering breath and prayed exactly as he believed Gabriel expected him to.

“Oh, God. I don’t deserve your love, but I thank you for it. Thank you for giving me a place to serve you and your best angels. Thank you for showing me my true purpose and allowing me to continue to live even though I continue to be a worthless failure. I know I am fallen. I know I deserved to be cast out and forgotten. I know I don’t deserve your mercy, but please, please have mercy. I have learned my lesson. I promise to do better next time. I am just in so much pain, God. I will do better next time, God, please have mercy on me.”

Silence filled the room when Crowley finished. His heart thundered in his chest, dreading the Archangel finding a flaw worthy of correction yet again. Instead, Crowley felt a gentle hand at the base of his neck. The thumb pressed calming circles into his skin where there were no injuries. It was an entirely painless touch that Crowley found himself wanting to lean towards and flee from in equal amounts. He remained frozen in place, a shiver running down his spine in apprehension.

"Look at me.” The Archangel spoke evenly as he moved around the demon to stand in front of him. Gabriel lifted Crowley’s face to look up toward him with a finger hooked around the demon’s chin. There was an honesty and sincerity to the Archangel’s features and voice as he spoke, soft and reassuring. “That was very well done, sweetheart. But clearly…” Gabriel paused with a slight tilt to his head, glancing upwards and raising his eyebrows as if listening for a response, then he looked back down at Crowley knowingly, smirking cruelly. "She’s not listening. Is She?"

Crowley only shook his head in response.

“God won't listen to you, Crowley." Crowley could barely see him through the tears welling up, clouding his eyes, although many of the tears fell as Gabriel drove the final nail into the coffin sealing away Crowley's hope. “You weren't ever forgotten because you were never worthy of Her love in the first place, Crowley. You've always been just a worthless demon whore. I'm your God now. The only one who can give you mercy is me. Do you understand?"

There was a slight smile on Gabriel’s face as he wiped away Crowley’s tears. It made Crowley’s heart sink and his stomach twist. There really was only Gabriel now. He hadn’t truly realized it before, but perhaps he had been holding onto some shred of hope all this time. That hope was now fully buried; he felt it leave his soul as he cried. 

He let his eyes fall shut for a moment as Gabriel continued to stroke over his face and through his hair. This was the best he was ever going to get as far as comfort goes now. Gabriel’s hands were the only ones Crowley would ever feel touch him this way. He really did belong to Gabriel now. 

"Yes, master," Crowley responded solemnly. He hated the tone ringing in his own ears. 

"Good." The Archangel let out a hum of approval above Crowley; he seemed to lazily contemplate his next move while his hand stroked through the demon's hair. His gaze remained soft for a few more breaths before sharpening up slightly. His tone took on a demanding edge that threatened to break the surface of his calm as he continued. “Now, kneel here with your head down where it belongs and pray to _me_ . Your Master. _Your God._ Tell me you are sorry. Beg me for mercy, and maybe, just maybe, if you pray long enough just like I’ve taught you, I’ll show you some when I return, alright, sweetheart?"

Crowley stammered a response out through horrified disbelief. “Y-yes master.” 

Gabriel was going to leave him alone and in pain again. 

Crowley was used to Gabriel no longer healing his wounds anymore, but leaving him bound under the power of instruments of torture for the space of three whole sessions, and all the time in between, was something he had _never_ done. The very idea made Crowley feel incredibly insignificant, and oh so small. He fell back into the position Gabriel had ordered of him once more, still forcing his limbs to comply despite their sharp pangs in protest.

Once he was as Gabriel expected, Crowley heard him say, “That’s a good slave.” Crowley heard the snap of his fingers and felt all of the leather tighten just slightly, enough to make him groan in response.

_Of course he wasn't going to just leave you without giving you a reminder, yeah? Stupid, worthless thing. You should be grateful he doesn't ever_ let _you forget._

Despite his inner dialogue, Crowley composed himself quickly, silencing his noise and saying nothing in reaction to the constriction of the leather biting into his limbs.

The Archangel stood looking down at Crowley, perhaps waiting for him to make a mistake and move. Crowley knew better than to allow that, no matter how much more suffering Gabriel unleashed upon him. Thankfully, there was no additional pain given to him, as Gabriel’s perfectly polished shoes turned away and left Crowley’s vision, echoing against the stone as he walked towards the exit.

The acrid scent that filled the air was brief. It was quickly replaced by the perfection of Heaven’s typically odorless air. Something about the smell, however fleeting, caused Crowley to shiver at it. He had already begun to pray yet again before he noticed it, and it was gone before the demon could inhale a second time. 

It smelled like sulfur and burning; like Falling, but any nightmare he had ever had of falling that included the stench had lasted far longer than this.

Gabriel must have been playing tricks on him again, trying to get Crowley to remember his Fall, to remember how worthless he was and just why God would never answer his prayers. He hadn’t heard the sound of the cell door over his praying, but Gabriel had left by teleporting in and out of the cell enough times that Crowley didn’t concern himself with it. 

Crowley just prayed. Prayed to Gabriel, his new God, because that was the last order he was given.

* * *

Crowley had no idea how long he had been alone, left to pray for mercy, but it felt far longer than any other time Gabriel had left him alone before.

He started praying to Gabriel just as instructed. When Gabriel failed to return, Crowley changed to calling for God, instead. When Crowley called Gabriel ‘master’ the first time, all the pain and fear ended almost immediately. Gabriel was placated by the requested title. Crowley had hoped the same would happen if he called Gabriel ‘God’.

No such relief came as a result.

Crowley redoubled his efforts into praying exactly as Gabriel had taught him. He shifted between names at random. Neither resulted in Gabriel’s return. 

"Please God, I am not worthy, but I have learned my lesson. Please have mercy on me. I'm so sorry for what I've done. I am sorry for what I am. I'll do anything, please."

The silence caused Crowley's composure to crack. Crowley slowly lost the sense of mind to pray as Gabriel told him to. He became more fervent and emotional. His prayers shortened to the words he thought were most important. 

"Please, master. I'm sorry." Crowley gasped between heaving breaths that were losing the battle to stay calm. "I'm sorry, God."

When no help was given, it began a cycle of hopelessness for Crowley: Pray like Gabriel had taught him only to fall apart when it failed to work, then rest silently while enduring the slicing ache of the dried leather. Finally, when he heard a voice or footsteps - any noise that might mean he was under watch - repeat it all over again. 

The cycle repeated for what felt like days. 

No Gabriel. No relief. No _answer_. 

Until he heard the door of the cell and a set of footsteps.

“Please,” Crowley whispered. 

Silence for a long moment - and then, the footsteps turned away to leave. Crowley’s heart sank.

They returned not long after, accompanied by other sets of footsteps as well. Crowley thought he heard multiple voices speaking above him, but they were murmuring too quietly for Crowley to make anything out. 

He felt his wings touched, shifted, and he allowed it, allowed them to touch his arms as well. The touch was soft, gentle, avoiding his wounds. Each point of contact was brief and used only the pads of one or two fingers at a time. Then, suddenly, came a touch to the top of his head that left his entire body painless and warm. Crowley could tell his body wasn't healed, but the leather strips were now only an insistent pressure. The warmth reminded him of his angel. The combination was so close to being wrapped in his angel's embrace that for a few blissful breaths he nearly believed that was exactly what it was.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley murmured curiously, his voice wary, but full of relief. 

There was no response, and the touch settled on the mark on his lower back. It traced the ridges teasingly, a gentle threat in contrast to the pain it was capable of. Crowley was suddenly gripped by fear. He had spoken Aziraphale’s name, and was about to be punished for it. Crowley let out a line of nearly incomprehensible apologies, “I am sorry. Please, master, oh God, I’m so sorry. Please.”

The touch on the mark left painlessly - Gabriel must have decided not to punish him in front of the crowd in the room. Crowley gasped out thanks over and over, until he was cut off as two hands gently gripped his shoulders, and attempted to pull him upright. There was no way Crowley would be fooled that easily; he resisted the pull and cried out desperately, “Please, master!” The hands let go once it was clear Crowley was not going to allow his head to leave the stone floor. Crowley sighed in relief, and waited for an order or praise. Something, anything to tell him what Gabriel wanted.

He was so confused. And despite the relief from the pain, he was terrified. No words to obey left him adrift, and he desperately wanted direction, to know if he was pleasing or angering his master. Sobs wracked his body and Crowley couldn’t help apologizing. “Sorry, master. Thank you, God. Thank you.”

“Sit up, demon.” The voice above him was not Gabriel. It was lower, gruffer than Gabriel’s.

Crowley was still. Gabriel must have invited other angels into the room to get Crowley to falter. He had been told to do as the other angels said before his test with Michael, but then he had also been placed in a position and then moved by Gabriel himself, only to be punished for it.

Crowley would do only what Gabriel gave permission to do.

"Where is your keeper, demon?” A different voice, this time. More feminine, and still definitely not Gabriel. It could have been Michael, it sounded similar, but without the freedom to look up and confirm his suspicions, he couldn’t know.

Crowley remained silent. His directions had not included answering questions. However, this question caused Crowley to swallow hard in fear. It meant Gabriel was very likely not in the room right now. The Archangel had never tested him like this before - leaving Crowley alone with other angels. He was determined not to fail; this test was too simple to fail. All Crowley had to do was keep his head on the ground where it belonged.

It was a test that Crowley should have no problems passing with flying colors. His useless emotions couldn't get in the way of keeping his forehead pressed to the floor.

These angels would try to make Crowley fail another test, but they would eventually leave and Gabriel would return. Or maybe Gabriel was in the room, and just waiting to see how Crowley would act in his supposed absence. All Crowley had to do was follow his orders. He had been ordered to kneel with his head to the floor and pray to Gabriel, so he resumed his prayers. 

"Oh, God, thank you for giving me a place to serve you. Thank you for giving me my true purpose. Forgive me for being a worthless failure, master. I know I don’t deserve your mercy, but please have mercy. I am doing everything I can to please you, master."

Crowley believed for a few moments that his prayers had worked. The angels whispered to each other hurriedly, their tones somewhere between impressed or stunned but words much too hushed to make out. Then, two sets of strong arms lifted him up by the armpits and dragged Crowley several steps from his ordered position. 

Crowley lost it. 

He knew the consequences would likely be dire, but he let his eyes swiftly scan across the room. 

No Gabriel. He really wasn't here; somehow that left Crowley more terrified than if he had been. Crowley kept his eyes shut and head lowered. Tears wracked his body as he pleaded with the angels and twisted ineffectually in their grasp. “Please. Please, I’m sorry, please!”

He needed to be exactly where Gabriel ordered him to be when he returned. Crowley increased his struggles, but his body was so weak from lack of rest and being in pain for so long that it didn’t matter. Still, during his struggles he must have hurt one of the angels dragging him away from his spot. Crowley found himself dropped to the floor. The collar fired and he wailed at the shock of his muscles convulsing. 

It was an odd sensation, the collar firing, without his body being capable of feeling pain. There were a few seconds during which Crowley did nothing but stay exactly where he had landed. The painless void threw all of the other aspects of the collar firing into sharp relief. A static buzz muffled his hearing, and there was an unbearable weight to his limbs that he had never noticed before. Air left his lungs as an incredible tightness bloomed in his chest.

The collar didn't even _need_ to be painful to still be utterly miserable and completely effective. It felt like a cruel joke. It would be just as maddening and torturous to be left like this. He was already drowning in tension and fatigue, and it was unlikely that more than a minute had passed.

The shock of it all delayed his realization that he was _not_ in the proper position and he was taking an awfully long time returning to it. 

Through the bizarre spasms of the collar, he scrambled back to where he had been kneeling, finding the spot through the warmth of the stone, damp from his tears and sweat, and stained red from his blood. He returned to his position, trembling from the collar and pleading through the confusion.

The feminine voice spoke once more, sounding displeased. “Do not resist us, demon. I don't appreciate having to do this to you.”

_Then don't do it, whatever you are about to do._ Crowley thought, as he failed to completely silence a whine.

He felt a touch at the top of his head and all the pain returned to his body at once. His whine shifted into a groan. The sensation of the leather shifted from an almost comforting pressure to a painful slice in an instant. It was paired with the deep ache of the collar firing. There was no way to prepare for it. It made him want to vomit.

“Oh, God. Please,” he breathed. Crowley felt his head go light, and blinked. His vision was hazy at the edges; he knew he was on the brink of passing out. There was a touch at his neck as the collar was turned down. “Thank you, thank you.” He gasped out. 

It still was far from pleasant - the leather was still cutting into his limbs. Having the pain removed and then returned to him while the collar had been active was horrible. Few things Gabriel had done were that sudden and cruel in such a terrible way. 

The arms lifting him returned once more. "Cease your struggles."

There was no hope of him listening to that. He wasn’t going to have Gabriel return to find him disobedient. This time he aimed a deliberate kick at one of the angels holding him up.

Again he was dropped to the ground, and again the collar fired.

And again, Crowley crawled through the spasms that shook him, this time with every bit of physical misery that the first instance lacked. Crowley returned to his position in his spot, breathing so laboured that he could barely beg through the waves of white hot fire boiling through his veins, pulling at his skin. Crowley noticed far more blood underneath himself. Lines of it were smeared over the stone, creating unmistakable trails leading toward his spot.

Gabriel will know right away. You disobeyed. You failed again. You don't deserve his mercy. All your prayers were worthless. 

As worthless as you are.

He heard the angels speaking very quietly with each other once more. Several of them left the cell entirely. 

Good. He wanted them to leave. Crowley had no intention of doing anything they asked for, so there was no point to them sticking around.

Another touch at Crowley’s head dispelled all the pain once more, although this time it lacked the comforting warmth. It was accompanied by the woman sounding far more impatient and frustrated than before. "Demon. This is your last chance. I suggest you take it. If you obey, I will put forth a good word to your keeper and suggest your punishment be ended early."

The silence that filled the room as she seemed to give Crowley time to consider her words had Crowley’s heart pounding. Dread and hopelessness filled him. His body was still twitching despite the lack of sensation. The collar was still firing and causing muscles to tense and release even while entirely painless, an ominous pantomime of what was to come when he failed to do as she asked. 

“Sit up, and tell us where your keeper is.” Her voice was soft and composed now. She sounded very much like she wanted to encourage him.

Crowley had no answer for her, unfortunately, so he remained silent while maintaining his position. The torturous searing from the collar and the leather returned in full force with another tap on his head. He gasped out a "please" as he saw the shoes of the angels turning to leave the room. Even though Crowley knew ultimately saying anything would be entirely hopeless; they had no reason to listen to him. All he had done was fail. Fail the test, fail to pray well enough for Gabriel to return, fail to obey Gabriel's orders. 

He had clearly failed these angels too, although Crowley cared far less about them than whatever Gabriel was going to think.

He allowed himself to cry once the angels were gone. Crowley dreaded the Archangel's return with every shuddered breath. The collar made it impossible for his muscles to stay relaxed, which brought even more tortured biting from the leather embedded in his limbs. Crowley tried to stay awake and endure. He knew Gabriel would want him to suffer for failing yet again, but his body was too exhausted to resist the pull of the darkness for long. 

He had felt it tugging at the edges of his mind the first time his body had been returned to pain, and the second round was now bound to continue until either Gabriel or another angel came into the cell to take pity on him. There was no end in sight, and the demon couldn't power through any longer, not after having used what remained of his reserves to return to the proper position. Crowley gave a desperate groan as his vision blurred and tunnelled out rapidly until he lost consciousness entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins! I have been hard at work on this for a few months now. 
> 
> I welcome all forms of polite feedback! Reactions or breakdown comments are also highly appreciated! As the story progresses, I'd be delighted to see people down in the comments wondering and guessing what will happen next. Repo was full of little details that might clue you in to what's to come. I hope to do the same here! 
> 
> I will do my best to respond to everyone who comments, although some of my responses may be delayed at times.
> 
> I plan to post updates every other Wednesday evening. I have a bit of a buffer so hopefully I won't have to change this schedule, but I will say in future end notes if that's the case. Once I have more of the story written, I'll post once a week, but depending on my buffer that may not happen till quite a ways through the story.
> 
> I hope to see you all again on the 15th! Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you all for your wonderful feedback on chapter 1! I was NOT expecting to get much response and I was delighted to be wrong.
> 
> It's the 15th, so it's time for chapter 2! I hope you've had a good two weeks!
> 
> I cannot say for sure if chapters will always be listed bright and early in the morning like this... My sleep schedule varies and I might not always have time to do an edit sweep the day before, but this time I did, so please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter specific warnings this time around.

"I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm afraid I'll have to arrange for another time to have this meeting." Aziraphale ushered the gentleman towards the door with a sympathetic frown.

"Mr. Fell! I know just how long you've been trying to get your hands on these volumes." The human turned to him with a placating gesture. "I'm a patient man. I can wait for a while. It's only half past one. You can take care of whatever it is you need to attend to and I'll be right here when you are finished. I'll wait until after hours if I must."

Aziraphale had quite a lot of patience; being an angel meant being patient more often than not. He had just reached his limit, however, and was done with entertaining humans. "I'm afraid after hours should have been hours ago, my good man. I'm terribly sorry. Your offer is more than kind and I do appreciate it. I'm just in no state to take it at the moment."

"We don't have to search together then!” the human was quick to suggest. “What if I did most of the searching? I've got more than a few leads. For the right price I'd be happy to pursue them on your behalf."

That word again. Search. Yes, he needed to be searching, but not for anything his customers had on _their_ minds. Not even for these pesky first editions this trusted client was offering to track down with him. The offer _was_ more than kind. Aziraphale had no idea at first why the offer had felt as if it left his heart open and bleeding when he had received it. Then he realized: the gentleman wasn’t offering to help with the demon search nobody but Aziraphale knew about, and that was all Aziraphale truly cared about finding anymore. 

It took a great deal of strength to not fall apart in front of this human. Aziraphale was close to losing it. "I'm sorry. I really must insist that you leave."

The human did not appear dissuaded, so Aziraphale snapped his fingers. Their eyes glassed over, and Aziraphale led the way back to the front of the bookshop before opening the door and gesturing out. The man left the shop without so much as a nod and joined the crowds on the sidewalk. Aziraphale watched people walk by from the window in the front door, his brows furrowed with concern. He disliked performing temptations on humans. It often went against free will and that never sat well with him, but he couldn't stand another moment of that client insisting they work together. Aziraphale locked the door of the bookshop and flipped the sign to indicate he was closed. 

Aziraphale had no intention of reopening the doors of the shop for customers until Crowley was found. He couldn’t be bothered with humans wanting to find _anything._ No human search came close to the importance of his own.

As Aziraphale walked towards his study, he snapped again to close all the blinds. Once the shop was fully blocked off from the outside world, he gave himself time to cry. He collapsed into his chair and leaned over his desk. Aziraphale had been holding in the tears all day; crying once the shop was closed had become part of his routine. Up until now, he had been able to make it through the whole day, but it had been far too long without Crowley and no word of where he had gone. 

Aziraphale was overcome with worry that Crowley might truly be gone forever.

When Crowley had first disappeared, Aziraphale had held on to the mundane routines associated with running the bookshop. During the first few days while Aziraphale had thought Crowley was simply busy with work, the distraction had been helpful. It continued to be somewhat helpful through the next two weeks, that is, while he wasn't out searching for Crowley. 

Aziraphale had hoped Crowley would return while the angel kept himself busy. Nearly every jingle of the shop bell had Aziraphale's heart in his throat.

It was never Crowley.

Once Aziraphale began to research ways to summon demons at night and whenever he found himself alone in the shop, the distraction of customers started to become an annoyance.

Aziraphale lost the ability to hear the phrase, _“could you help me find”_ or _“I am looking for”_ or any other similar queries without his brain finishing the sentence with _“Crowley.”_ The intrusive interruption of his own mind bothered him, but Aziraphale had been able to brush it aside and assist whomever was speaking to him.

Despite handling customers becoming more insufferable than ever, sorting through his stock during open hours still allowed Aziraphale to escape his thoughts for a time. 

At least it had, until his demon summoning circle had worked, but not to bring Crowley back.

Two more weeks had passed since he had summoned the random demon into his shop and extinguished his existence within the summoning circle.

As he cried, Aziraphale opened the middle drawer of his desk just enough to reach his hand inside. Without looking, he drew out a single black feather - one of Crowley's primaries. It had been tied to the top of a box of specialty chocolate truffles that Crowley had given him for their first anniversary as lovers. Aziraphale held it and wept harder.

_Where have you gone, my love? What am I missing to bring you back to me?_ Can I _bring you back to me? Please, please don't be gone._

He snapped his fingers the very instant he felt he could cry no more. The miracle dried the tears on his desk, face, and clothing. He placed the feather back in his desk drawer so the sight of it couldn't send him back into yet another state of non-functional sorrow. Then with a shuddering sigh, he resumed researching for new leads.

Time became a slow, painful drag as he continued to systematically fill notebooks and organize books as he worked. Aziraphale was quite a bit beyond the state one might describe as worried, and was much closer to a state many would agree is unhealthily obsessed. He was no longer capable of entertaining any thoughts that had no chance of leading him to his missing demon.

He actually hadn't left the bookshop once since he had closed it. Aziraphale had stopped eating. He didn’t need to, and it had been the first of his habits to change, while the angel researched day and night for anything that might be related to Crowley’s disappearance. He knew many of his regular restaurants had definitely recognized his lack of appearance, and Aziraphale might have felt guilty if he could have spared a single moment to think about anything other than bringing Crowley home.

The research consumed him and the stress was taking its toll on him in a way it never had before. Aziraphale had never typically slept much in the past, but he now found himself waking up regularly. He never recalled falling asleep. His body simply passed out from the stress of researching endlessly with no leads. 

He had considered that the lack of food could be the root cause of his body's newfound reliance on sleep, but the time spent on obtaining and consuming regular meals simply wasn't worth it. Besides, he was far too anxious to enjoy any of it, anyway. Aziraphale hoped his body would remember that it did not technically need either form of energy recharge. Angels typically didn't rely on eating or sleeping, and the time gained by denying himself either was far too enticing to ignore.

Aziraphale's stomach growled. He stood up and moved to the kitchen. His rummaging through the cupboards was entirely autopilot as he thought about the last few notes he had taken and how they might be connected. He put a kettle of water on the stove and went back to his desk briefly in order to double check his notebook.

The only time Aziraphale left his desk anymore was to retrieve new books from his piles, to search his shelves for anything he may have forgotten to pull out already, and make tea or cocoa. He allowed himself liquids; the time it took to make them was short enough, and the task itself mindless enough that he could continue to think about what he had been reading while preparing them.

He had been pulled from his thoughts by the kettle whistling angrily. Half of the water had boiled away already. Aziraphale blinked, mildly confused at how long he had been staring at his notes in the kitchen. He closed the notebook with a frown and finished making his tea.

Once done, he returned to his desk and set the tea aside without touching it. His body did not take long to remind him why he had made the drink in the first place. His stomach growled a second time, louder, and interrupted his thoughts. Aziraphale glared downward with disapproval.

He took a sip of tea and allowed himself a moment to actually indulge in the flavor of it. He closed his eyes to try and give himself a moment of forced peace. Having tea and cocoa only seemed to make Aziraphale miss eating human-prepared meals even more. He missed the ritual of selecting a cuisine, then a restaurant. He missed savoring every bite and delighting in the different flavor combinations humans came up with. He missed opening his eyes after a particularly scrumptious mouthful and seeing Crowley's ever-adoring and eternally supportive gaze across the table. 

The thought made Aziraphale open his eyes, only to look down at the middle drawer of his desk. To his dismay, his stomach made noise yet again.

_I don't miss it as much as Crowley. Food can wait, Crowley cannot._

Aziraphale took another sip and went back to work.

* * *

  
  


The bookshop bell chimed and awoke Aziraphale with a start. At first, he wasn't certain what had awakened him. He blinked groggily and looked around. It seemed he had fallen asleep drooling onto the pages of a priceless demonology tome. He frowned down at it and waved a hand over the book to clean the mess. 

He assumed this was just the end to another unwanted nap. Aziraphale miracled his cocoa warm once more, then flipped back a page in the book he was studying to refresh himself on what he had been reading just before his corporation had rudely fallen unconscious.

Then, he heard a noise of movement from the front of the shop. It filled Aziraphale with hope he hadn’t felt so keenly in years. He practically threw himself from his chair when he heard the sound. An unintentional miracle kept his seat from ending up toppled to the floor as Aziraphale scrambled from his backroom towards the front of the shop.

Another week had passed since Aziraphale had closed the bookshop to all except certain individuals who possessed the ability to let themselves in with a mere thought. Or those who never bothered to imagine they _wouldn’t_ be permitted entry, and so the shop doors were never locked.

Noises at the front of the shop could only mean one thing:

_“Crowley is home!”_

His heart couldn’t have crashed harder at seeing a lone angel in his shop instead of his dear demon. Aziraphale chased down the quickly vanishing joy from his heart and held on to just enough of the feeling to force a smile on his face after the genuine one had surely faded.

If the angel noticed Aziraphale’s shifting expressions, they didn’t indicate it. “Your presence is requested in Heaven, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course. I will only be a minute. I just need to gather my reports.”

He turned to go back to his office. Internally he was reeling with a spiral of thoughts. There were no reports to gather, of course. Aziraphale hadn’t done a report since the last one Gabriel had come to get in person. Crowley had gone missing the same day and Aziraphale had been preoccupied with worry ever since. Gabriel usually expected a report once a month. Aziraphale glanced at the calendar above his desk. Nearly two weeks late now. It certainly wouldn’t be the first late report, but it was the first time that Gabriel had sent another angel, not just to collect the report and deliver a rude note, but to bring Aziraphale himself to Heaven.

That did not bode well for this visit. Aziraphale had to be in trouble for something more than just his late report, for them to call him to Heaven without reason. 

His first fear, as it always was, was that they had figured out about Crowley. The demon he had summoned said there were rumors in Hell. Perhaps those rumors had made their way to Heaven by now?

Aziraphale’s next fear was the very demon-summoning incident itself. The demon being dead would no doubt alleviate some portion of whatever reprimand he was about to receive, but it didn’t stop Aziraphale from dwelling on it in the privacy of his office until he heard the angel call out to him from the front of the bookshop.

“Principality Aziraphale, your reports can wait if they are going to take much longer to collect. You are expected immediately.”

Oh, that _really_ did not bode well. Heaven always cared about reports, even when they weren't yet due.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. He had been through plenty of berating meetings. This was probably nothing. He would get through this meeting, fake up a report as soon as he returned to Earth to get Heaven off his back for another month, and then be free to return to his search without further interruption. He straightened himself up as best he could with a few nervous tugs on his clothes, then walked back out of his office to follow the summoner to Heaven.

The summoner did not lead him to Gabriel’s office.

Aziraphale hurried forward to speak to the angel. They walked on with purpose even as Aziraphale did his best to gain their attention. 

“Ex-excuse me, but I think you might be mistaken. I report to Gabriel. We just passed his office.” Aziraphale pointed behind them, hoping the gesture might correct their course. 

It did not. The angel continued to walk away from the department Aziraphale was used to reporting to. Toward an entirely different department of Heaven. They replied to Aziraphale with a tone that was somehow bored and resolute at the same time. 

“You were not summoned by Gabriel.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale suddenly felt very far in over his head, and the dread in his gut doubled. He did not get summoned by other departments. “Who sent the summons for me, exactly?” Aziraphale’s voice rose with worry until the final word was a nearly breathless squeak.

“Archangel Michael.” 

This had to be a mistake. Although Aziraphale was made for combat, he had made it known very early on that he wanted no part in it. Why would the Archangel Michael, head of war, battles, and organized combat, be seeking discussion with Aziraphale?

_Unless that demon I summoned was someone important._

Aziraphale swallowed a lump that had formed in the back of his throat. He quickly tossed the notion aside as ridiculous. Crowley didn’t associate with important demons, and when work forced him to, he would warn Aziraphale. He didn’t recall Crowley ever mentioning the demon he had summoned as someone to watch out for or stay far away from. 

Crowley would have warned him.

Crowley normally wouldn’t be missing, either.

Aziraphale shooed the thoughts from his mind as they approached Michael’s office. Now was not the right time to be thinking about Crowley. He could think all he wanted about his demon once he was back on Earth and this month’s report was filed. Right now he needed to get through whatever this meeting was about.

The summoner opened the door to Michael’s office and they stepped inside. Michael rose with a smile and gestured for Aziraphale to take a seat across from her desk. “Ah, Aziraphale! Just who I was hoping to see. Please, sit.”

She was already far more inviting than his own boss. Gabriel had no other chairs in his office and spending a miracle for one’s own comfort would get a lecture on thrifty miracle use and how doing the work of the Lord meant doing without unnecessary physical luxuries. His lecture always felt hollow, since the few possessions Gabriel showed off in his office were far from plain or cheap. Aziraphale appreciated the kindness and gave a slight nod to Michael to show her as much.

Aziraphale sat down. Michael returned to her own seat as he did so. “I am sure you are curious to know why I sent for you, Principality. We don’t often have any purpose to cross paths.”

“You would be correct, Archangel.” He noticed that all other angels had left the room as he settled down, and tried not to let that fact cause more alarm in his mind. Aziraphale gave her a look that he tried very hard to muster sincerity into, although he found it took more effort than offering the same to humans in his bookshop. “How can I help you?”

“How much do you believe you know about demons, Principality?” Michael did not waste any time cutting straight to the heart of her concerns. If she was angry, her tone hid it well. She seemed only interested in hearing his response as she added, “And how confident are you in your knowledge?” 

This had to be about his summoning incident, Aziraphale was certain now. If it was about Crowley, it wouldn’t be Michael bringing it up with him. It would be Gabriel, or possibly several Archangels at once, but not Michael alone. Still, giving the game away without being sure would do him no good. Aziraphale had done well flying under the radar of his superiors by appearing to be somewhat slow on the uptake. He played into that idea with his response, giving Michael only exactly what she asked for and nothing more than that.

“I suppose, with me being stationed on Earth as long as I have, I very likely have more direct contact and on the job experience dealing with demonkind in comparison to those stationed here in Heaven. I'm fairly confident in my knowledge. Why do you ask?”

Aziraphale did not anticipate her response taking the directional shift that it did. 

“What exactly is the nature of your relationship with the demon Crowley?”

It was every one of his nightmares realized: Crowley’s name being brought up here in Heaven, by his superiors, asking him about his relationship directly. There really was no worse question. Aziraphale had spent a lot of his idle time on Earth worrying about exactly this, and his dear demon had spent nearly the same amount of time trying to reassure him that it was fine, that Heaven and Hell both had far bigger concerns than what, or in this case, _who,_ their Earth operatives were doing in their free time.

Thankfully there _were_ more than enough times when Crowley slept and Aziraphale had mentally prepared for this very moment. Without that preparation, the angel might have caved and broken down upon simply hearing Crowley’s name again.

With words Aziraphale had long practiced to himself alone at night, he replied. It took a great deal of effort not to accompany the words with the nervous fidgeting of his hands as he recited the lines. He kept his hands clasped in his lap, unmoving, despite every urge to move them. 

“The demon Crowley?” He did his best to sound surprised. “I believe he frequents London. We do cross paths time and again. We’ve got an agreement of sorts. Just a simple discorporation truce. It would be an awful lot of unnecessary paperwork and would slow down my work considerably if we went about killing each other on sight all the time. I prefer we keep out of each other’s way unless there is something to discuss.”

Michael seemed very interested in what Aziraphale had to say, and it did nothing to lessen his worries. Her eyebrow raised when he mentioned an agreement. She leaned forward over her desk, her fingers steepled together as she took in what Aziraphale said before asking yet another question. “So, would you say you are good at making the demon Crowley talk?”

Aziraphale had no plans beyond his initial dismissal of their relationship being anything but a work agreement. He had no idea how to respond or react to her follow-up question. On the upside, the surprise in his response didn’t have to be faked; it was entirely genuine. On the downside, it meant it was much more difficult to not let his worry seep into his voice.

“I suppose so. He’s never seemed opposed to discussion, but I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to find him.” Aziraphale paused and wondered if he should mention his failed attempts to summon Crowley before thinking better of it. If they were going to mention anything about his demon summoning, Michael was going to shortly or had no intention of bringing it up at all. The fact that Michael had only mentioned Crowley thus far made Aziraphale fairly certain that Heaven was either unconcerned or unaware of his actions from a few weeks ago. “I haven’t seen or heard from him in quite some time. Why do you ask?”

Michael sat back in her chair. She looked unsure. While she deliberated over her next words, Aziraphale found hope beginning to bloom within his heart almost equal in intensity to hearing the noises in the bookshop earlier. If Heaven wanted a word with Crowley and wanted Aziraphale to be the middle-man who gained Crowley’s cooperation, then this could work to his favor. Aziraphale would be able to lead the forces and have the added resources of Heaven to find Crowley. His search had far more chances of success if he was not the only individual looking. Then, once Crowley was found, Aziraphale could hopefully talk to Crowley alone and they could find some way to work the situation to benefit them.

If Crowley _had left_ because he was tired of hiding, maybe this was their way to get a foot through the door, as it were. Aziraphale could pass any further interaction or meetings with Crowley off as maintaining healthy relations so Crowley would continue to do whatever Heaven was interested in getting Crowley to do. Or, if it was a one time agreement, then Aziraphale could argue that Crowley might be a valuable contact to have in the future, since he had cooperated with Heaven once before.

Gabriel could drop by for his reports and Crowley could still be around the bookshop if this all worked out. They would just have to be sure Crowley wasn't around for _every_ check in. Sure, they wouldn't be able to act like lovers, but they could both fake being cordial in front of the Archangels without arousing any suspicions. It would be all too easy to maintain appearances.

Aziraphale had only just started to become lost in the possibilities when Michael’s voice pulled him from the plans whirling through his mind.

“Yes,” Michael began with a deep breath, very nearly a sigh. Aziraphale rarely saw such an action from an Archangel; It worried him a great deal. She continued in a slow, even tone, speaking down to Aziraphale as if he should have figured it out himself. “Well, the reason you have not seen any evidence of his evil deeds on Earth is that we have had him in captivity here in Heaven for some time now. We have been unable to get the demon Crowley to talk.”

_It makes perfect sense why the spells didn't work, then. None of them mentioned summoning demons from Heaven. Crowley was up here the whole time! I never would have. . ._

Aziraphale’s mind reeled as he blinked several times in shock. His heart skipped a beat at the same time his stomach felt like it was doing jumping jacks. He could not figure out if he should be outraged or relieved. Heaven _didn’t take prisoners_ . This was _unheard of_ . Yet at the same time, it meant his dear Crowley was _alive_ , and _safe!_

He decided to let his genuine shock steer his reaction, and tried desperately to not allow outrage to take over as he gave the situation more thought. “I had no idea. This is not typical of Heaven, to take prisoners. He is under my jurisdiction, being on Earth with me. I do wish you had brought this to my attention sooner. I have been worried sick over his next evil deeds. It seems I have wasted a lot of time and effort now.” 

Aziraphale paused and waited for Michael to say something. When she only regarded him with a concerned, wary gaze that told him nothing, Aziraphale shifted tactics in hopes that expressing willingness to help would get him closer to Crowley. “If you take me to him, I am certain I can bargain with the wily serpent. He won’t be happy about it, of course, but if we can assure him some form of protection from Hell, I am positive he’d be open to creating a contract or agreement. What exactly did you wish to speak to him about? What have you tried already?”

Michael still remained silent, only this time she held up a hand to silence Aziraphale and give herself time to say what she intended to. “I believe you are not understanding me correctly, Principality. It’s not that he _won’t_ speak. It’s that he’s not _able_ to speak.”

Aziraphale frowned, “I don’t understand.”

Michael rose from her seat and motioned for Aziraphale to do the same. “Follow me, please. I believe speaking of this problem further will get us nowhere. It will be best if I simply show you.”

“A- Alright.” 

Aziraphale followed her through the halls of Heaven for quite some time, all the while his stomach twisted in knots. 

Heaven was vast, and often comprised of wide, empty halls. Aziraphale never felt that he fit in Heaven’s halls, but they never felt oppressive. They never looked dangerous. Hell was a place of violence, not Heaven. However, the walk toward Crowley felt fraught with a sense of looming danger. Aziraphale felt every step he made was somehow more doomed than the previous one. 

Similarly, nowhere in Heaven ever felt isolated; despite the vastness there always seemed to be something or someone nearby. Heaven was not just large empty spaces with no reason. However, the walk toward Crowley felt exactly that way. There were no doors along the halls, and they didn't pass a single angel on their way. The path seemed to be nothing more than empty halls and turned corners without reason, until they reached one door.

A door that could only be described as that of a cell. Small barred window and all.

When the door was opened, the room within was revealed to have cold stone floors that reminded Aziraphale of human-built cells throughout ancient times. It was not modern. It was not Heavenly. It was barely lit well enough to read a book, if Aziraphale had had one on him. 

It was barbaric.

In the center of the room was a crumpled, dirty mess of black feathers, hunched low on the ground. It took Aziraphale a moment to realize that crumpled form had to be Crowley.

Aziraphale froze. He found himself unable to move closer once he knew. He felt as if moving even an inch more would somehow betray all his true feelings - feelings of outright, protective rage. He hoped any emotion that made it to his face looked close enough to disgust that Michael wouldn’t be able to tell that the rage was aimed at everything but the demon at their feet.

Michael gestured toward Crowley and spoke with only a disappointed air to her voice. A less severe tone than one Aziraphale would use in response to his favourite baker being out of a treat he intended on buying.

“He becomes hysterical if we attempt to move him, and he only says a handful of words, and a few names.” Michael explained simply. Aziraphale tore his gaze from Crowley to meet Michael’s eyes with a questioning expression. She caught onto his question and answered without him having to ask it aloud. “One of the names is yours, Principality, which is why we called you in. We hoped _you_ might know what to do.”

Aziraphale exchanged a silent, concerned look with Michael at that. Glancing at her, then to Crowley and back, he asked silent permission from her to approach Crowley. She nodded and gestured toward the demon once more, but made no move to get any closer herself.

Aziraphale took a deep breath before stepping forward a few paces and going down to one knee in order to get a closer look. Still far enough away that it pained him, but would give the impression to Michael that he was merely observing. He angled his posture and position between her and Crowley so that his expressions would not be easy for her to discern. He hoped to give himself precious time to compose himself; Aziraphale knew he would need it before rising to his feet once more.

Crowley’s body had been stripped of all clothing, and Aziraphale noticed with increasing horror that what he had initially seen as dirt was actually blood; both Crowley and the floor surrounding him were covered in it. The demon’s wings were covered in burns and cuts, and had what looked like metal rings pierced through them at the joints. Had his own wings been on display at the moment, they surely would have flexed in discomfort at the sight. He was grateful angels were no longer expected to have their wings out while in Heaven anymore. The reflex might have given him away.

The rings brutally affixed through his wings were not the only metal clearly meant to restrain Crowley. There was a collar around his neck with no clear latch to remove it. It was smooth all the way around with a small display that showed the numbers 05 on it. A few buttons and a tiny dial lined the top edge near the display. From the design, it appeared to be Heavenly technology of some kind. Aziraphale was far from an expert on Earth technology, but he had never seen anything close to what Crowley was wearing in any human shop or advertisement.

Just above and below the collar, something was wrapped painfully tight, slightly cutting into Crowley's neck. These two painful indentations were far from the only two on his body. Crowley’s arms, legs, and even his wings had similar wounds caused by something thin encircling his limbs. The loops around the demon's neck were the least painful looking of these injuries; the others were so constricted they had become embedded into the skin and bled in places.

Leather, he realized. Heavens, it was a torture method that Aziraphale hadn’t seen in person, but he had read a few books and come across drawings depicting it before. What had Crowley done to deserve this? He hardly expected Crowley to give in and give Heaven what they wanted without keeping up appearances, but this was so far beyond what Aziraphale had ever seen Heaven do before. 

Crowley barely moved, but he was breathing. He wasn’t discorporated. It pained Aziraphale to think that it probably would have been a relief if Crowley _had_ discorporated. Aziraphale could see the shimmer of damp skin on Crowley’s face. He was crying. Crying silently, and doing his best not to move. Oh, it broke Aziraphale to see, and it brought Michael’s last words to the surface of his mind.

_They thought I could help because one of the few things he still says is_ my name _._

Of course when reduced to a blood-streaked, tear-stained, shivering ball, Crowley spoke Aziraphale’s name. The idea ripped every good feeling and thought Aziraphale ever had into a million bits, set them on fire, and screamed at the universe while doing so. Aziraphale wanted to level mountains in outrage at the idea of Heaven reducing Crowley to this.

He had no idea what to do with his emotions, so he did his best to push them away or turn them off. He could not let his emotions play a part here at all and it pained him immensely. 

_No, that's not true. This will hurt, but it can't possibly hurt more than what Heaven has done here. I have to do this for Crowley._

Aziraphale knew he had to pretend Crowley meant nothing to him; doing anything else would doom them. Aziraphale swallowed nervously, distinctly aware that his reactions right now could very well appear in a trial. This could just be a trap in order to convince them Aziraphale was guilty.

Heaven likely wasn’t convinced of their relationship existing. This meant that Heaven hadn’t been successful in getting Crowley to admit it, or they had no idea when they captured Crowley in the first place. They might have no idea at all, still, but he doubted their suspicions were at zero if Crowley had been calling his name out while in such a state of terrible suffering.

Either way, Aziraphale could work with that. Heaven not having solid enough evidence to bring him to trial before this moment meant he still had a chance to alleviate their suspicions. He needed to tread carefully if there was any hope of him bringing Crowley home and getting them out of this. 

Aziraphale had absolutely no idea how to get them home, now. Heaven likely wouldn't give up Crowley easily. He feared this could be the start of a very long process of trying to convince Heaven to give Crowley a chance to do whatever they asked willingly. Heaven applied changes so slowly and methodically. It could be years before Crowley was treated with anything resembling respect, and decades before Crowley was given any opportunity to prove himself valuable. 

Aziraphale imagined visiting Crowley while influencing those changes over time and his heart broke. He was suddenly reminded of those dreadful reality television shows Crowley had influenced into existence and occasionally tried to get Aziraphale to watch. One of them had featured prison inmates talking to their loved ones through glass. 

_At least humans in correctional facilities_ can _speak. Crowley is being treated so poorly he can't even speak at all anymore._

Aziraphale stood up. He couldn’t bear to look any more. 

“Why has he been so heavily injured?” 

Crowley didn’t react at all when Aziraphale finally spoke, and the angel desperately shoved his emotions and thoughts about how terrifying that was down as he turned to face Michael.

Several other angels had appeared behind Michael while Aziraphale had knelt to observe Crowley. They crowded in the doorway with the small overflow sticking close to the wall near the exit. Concerning, but Aziraphale did not let it faze him. He waited calmly for a response from the Archangel. Or, at least, he hoped to appear calm; he was aware his expression may have looked closer to wary. He hoped any nerves would be attributed to witnessing a demon, or said demon in such a state of suffering.

“We are just as uninformed about the precise reason he was left in such a state as you are, Aziraphale. His keeper is currently missing. We have been trying to get the demon to tell us where his keeper is, or why he was left like he was, and as I’ve told you, he doesn’t speak to us.” Michael yet again had a disapproving edge to her voice that implied she considered Aziraphale unintelligent or slow.

“Is this how Heaven typically treats prisoners? Why have his injuries not been tended to?” Aziraphale demanded indignantly.

Michael was quick to dismiss him with a shrug of disdain. “Surely there is a reason he was left like this, Aziraphale. His keeper would not treat him this way without a purpose or justification.” 

Whoever this _keeper_ was, Aziraphale found himself wishing the individual would trip into some hellfire. He was more than relieved they had gone missing; Aziraphale knew if they hadn’t, Crowley would still be under their care. 

_And I'd still be exhausted with worry over research that never in a millenia would have led me_ here _._

Aziraphale failed to see any purpose or justification that could ever be made to treat any living creature with such malice, but he kept such thoughts to himself. He hated that so many of the angels within the room had nodded in agreement with Michael’s words. It made him sick how they seemed to believe any of this could be somehow justified.

“You have done nothing to make him feel safe, so it’s only natural he’d refuse to tal-.”

“He is a demon, Aziraphale. I am sure Hell has done far worse to him than Heaven ever could.” Michael sounded slightly defensive. 

It seemed every excuse Aziraphale tried to come up with, Michael had an answer for. “Still, you’ve left him bleeding and suffering. It’s no wonder he’s still incoherent.”

“He was not feeling any physical pain while we requested information from him, Aziraphale. He still gave us nothing to work with.” Michael stepped around Crowley, looking down at him and shaking her head in disappointment as she shot down Aziraphale’s concerns with unflinching certainty. 

“Why remove the pain only temporarily?” The very concept of them removing the pain and keeping the injuries infuriated Aziraphale. “He’s obviously still in pain now. You put the pain back - he probably can barely speak due to it. I doubt he can even hear us properly. Just look at how little he is reacting to us talking above him.” Aziraphale gestured over the motionless demon. “It’s like we aren’t even here.”

“No, Aziraphale. He can’t hear or see anything at the moment. It wouldn’t do to have him listening to any of this, would it?” Her tone yet again told Aziraphale that she believed him to be daft. She continued speaking with the same berating indifference. “We’ve left the damage so he can easily be returned to his punishment. It’s a mercy, really. Having it all done again would be much more stressful for the demon if we find out he does deserve it. He could be behind Gabriel’s disappearance, and if that’s the case then he very much deserves every bit of his current suffering and then some.”

“Gabriel is... missing?” That explained why he didn’t pester Aziraphale for his monthly report sooner. It also explained why Michael was the one to summon him.

Her tone was matter of fact; she could have been announcing the sky was blue. “Yes, Gabriel was Crowley’s keeper.” 

Well, that was a bombshell of information. _Gabriel_ was Crowley’s keeper? Surely Gabriel wasn’t capable of this unthinkable level of cruelty. No, of course not. He wouldn’t even dirty his _celestial temple_ with food; he wouldn’t do this to _any_ living creature, no matter how deserving. Gabriel would have had a more violent angel handle the messy act of torture.

_Crowley’s torturer would have to know_ why _Crowley was being punished so severely. But only Gabriel is missing, and Heaven has no idea why he’s been left in such a horrid state._

“Oh, he was?” Aziraphale almost felt lightheaded with shock. His reaction was heavily delayed. He did not have time to fully process what Gabriel being Crowley’s keeper meant. Nor did he have time to process Gabriel's disappearance. Aziraphale had to focus on Crowley and getting him home. He would have time to unpack everything else once they were both home and _safe_.

Michael glared at Crowley on the floor for a moment before her eyes softened and she looked up at Aziraphale. “Yes.” She paused, then added solemnly. “ _Is_ his keeper. He will be returned to that position once we locate and speak with him.” 

Aziraphale was grateful for the worried silence that had followed her response. It gave him time to consider his next words. There was a glimmer of weakness in her last words that could be his only opportunity to shift the conversation into his favor. He had the information he needed and his mind was made up. Asking questions was getting him nowhere. 

They had come to him for a solution. 

And no matter how Aziraphale looked at things, Crowley staying in Heaven was not good. They'd both be under intense watch here. Even now, they had attracted a small crowd - curious onlookers wondering what the fuss was about. There was only one solution.

Bring Crowley home. Right now.

Anything less than that was unacceptable. He put all other worries and possibilities from his mind. Aziraphale knew he needed to display courage and act confidently, or Michael would never be convinced. "Alright. It won't be simple, or quick, but I believe I can help. I'll need to take the demon back to Earth with me, if I'm to assist you."

"That is out of the question!" Michael shook her head and briefly clasped her hands into fists. Her posture stiffened with resolve. "He is a highly dangerous demon. Anything you need to do to get him to talk, you can do here in Heaven, Aziraphale."

He remained steadfast; Aziraphale had been prepared for her to resist the idea. "I don't believe that to be the case. He'll need familiar surroundings, for a start, before he'll be receptive to anything else,” he calmly reasoned with Michael, fully aware that doing so was going to cause the Archangel to falter eventually. None of the Archangels had ever dealt with the stubbornness of Aziraphale, once he was fully committed to an idea.

Michael narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "How exactly is your bookshop... _familiar surroundings_ for _any_ demon, Aziraphale?" The corner of her mouth twitched upward slightly.

Aziraphale didn't falter in the slightest. "Heaven is no doubt more unfamiliar to him than _anywhere_ on Earth." He snapped and miracled one of the stones out of the floor next to him. It floated right into his open hand. He made a show of sweeping two fingers across the surface, then showing them off to her with raised eyebrows. "You've made a very fine attempt at a dreary dungeon here, but it's clear whoever designed it hasn't spent much time on Earth. Heaven doesn't really _do_ filth. Do _any of you_ think Hell is remotely this immaculate?" Aziraphale's gaze was expectant as he allowed himself to address not just Michael, but also the crowd hovering in the room.

Several angels murmured about the display.

“He has a point.”

“Gabriel said _I was_ bad at torture. Wait till he hears about _this._ ”

“I hear this guy is one of the only angels who lives in dirt. His bookshop is _covered_ in dust.”

“Yeah, I heard that too. He would know about this, then.”

The last couple comments made Aziraphale roll his eyes - it wasn’t about _living in filth_ ; it was about _dissuading customers._ He refocused his thoughts on more important matters and shifted his attention back to Michael. She swiftly glared at the onlookers, daring them to continue their hushed commentary. They stopped talking amongst themselves and the cell went eerily quiet. 

Michael huffed, breaking the silence and clearly not happy about the spectacle this meeting had become. Her lips drew into a thin line. "You've made your point, Principality." She snapped to undo Aziraphale's miracle. The stone vanished from his hand instantly and reappeared back within the floor as if it was never removed. "What do you plan to do with the demon once he's in more familiar surroundings?"

Aziraphale blinked and considered for a moment. He had been so focused on just getting Crowley home that he really hadn't thought beyond that yet. It made sense that Michael would want to know what he was going to be doing, and although he briefly entertained the idea of lying to her, Aziraphale decided against it. It would be more beneficial to play by the rules as often as he was able to in this situation. They would be watching him too closely.

"He'll need to be healed and carefully observed until I know exactly what I am dealing with." He glanced over at Crowley, hating that every moment of this conversation was another one in which his demon was still suffering.

_Just hold on, love. I promise I won't leave you._

"No." The tone of the single word seemed to imply that Aziraphale's plan was absurd. Michael frowned and shook her head. "You will not be permitted to use healing miracles on the demon." 

"It would be necessary, I feel," Aziraphale insisted candidly. "Even if he resumes speaking, he could easily be set back into the state he's in now. That is especially true if the demon is one miracle away from immense suffering."

"We _still_ don't know why he was left this way." Michael retorted, still tense with resistance. "He could deser-"

"What would you have me do about this situation, then?" Aziraphale played up his impatience just a bit. It was a risk to interrupt her, but he knew he had to seem unconcerned if he was to convince her that he could handle Crowley. 

Michael threw one hand toward Crowley as frustration rose in her voice. "Get him to talk!"

That was what Aziraphale was looking for. Michael was far more desperate than she was willing to admit, and now she was showing it. Her pride as an Archangel was on the line here and her carefully held together mask of certainty was slipping. She was losing control of the situation.

Aziraphale kept his voice light and dismissive. He tried to give the impression he was emotionally uninvested and ready to walk away from the entire situation. "I've just told you how I intend to carry out your assignment and you say none of it is possible. I don't see how I can help you." 

Michael remained silent, clearly frustrated with him.

Inwardly, he smiled; this was exactly what Aziraphale had wanted. He shrugged with indifference and used the opening to assert himself. "Anyone in this room could do what I've suggested, but will you? Your ways haven't worked. You've come to me. I have no doubt I can do what you want, but I can't do anything you don't approve of."

The entire room was silent once more. Michael studied Aziraphale with something very close to anger in her eyes. She looked down at Crowley with an added intensity that had Aziraphale briefly concerned she might lash out at him. There was a tension in the air until she finally sighed and tore her gaze from the demon.

"Fine," she snapped, bitter and resentful. Michael took a deep breath and returned her tone to one Aziraphale was much more used to hearing, admonishing and precise in her directives. "You may take the demon Crowley with you, but his collar will remain on for your own safety. You will not have access granted to remove it.”

“Collar?” Aziraphale frowned at her in concern. How would a collar on Crowley keep him safe? If he decided on chaining Crowley up, perhaps? Crowley wasn't chained up now, although those revolting metal rings suggested that likely wasn't uncommon.

“Yes.” Michael snapped a heavenly manual and a remote into her hand. She held them out for Aziraphale to take. “I highly suggest you read up before dispelling the sensory block.”

“I shall do so. Thank you.” Aziraphale lied with a smile as he accepted her offer; he tucked the remote into his coat pocket and the book under one arm. He had no intention of reading the manual until he had helped Crowley, and Aziraphale was hoping he wouldn't need the information contained within the tome at all once Crowley was able to talk. 

“One last thing, Aziraphale." Michael snapped a second time and miracled up a metal chain that connected to Crowley's collar. Crowley remained still as if nothing had changed. "You are to return him to Heaven as soon as you are able to converse with the demon. You are _not_ his keeper. You should not even be having contact with the demon, let alone have extended time alone. I expect you back here in Heaven right away after you’ve accomplished your objective." Her tone darkened in warning as she held out the metal chain for Aziraphale to grasp. "Is that understood?”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale’s stomach dropped at the idea of bringing Crowley back to Heaven, but it was a term he would have to agree to for the moment and hope it could be negotiated at a later date. He pushed aside the trepidation in his heart and took the metal leash from Michael.

“I will send you both back to your bookshop now, Aziraphale. Report back soon. I will check in personally if you fail to update.” Michael held her hand up in preparation to snap her fingers a final time and send him away. Her stern expression faded slightly as she added a touch of warmth to her tone. "Do reach out if there's anything you need from us, Principality."

"Of course, I'll keep you notified. Thank you kindly." Aziraphale gave her a genuine smile this time. He intended it to be interpreted as eagerness for the opportunity to serve Heaven. The truth was so much simpler, yet far more meaningful than that.

Crowley was coming home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! 
> 
> Chapter 3 will be posted in another two weeks, on the 29th!
> 
> I look forward to seeing what you all think and hopefully seeing you then!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you for all the lovely comments on chapter 2!
> 
> It's the 29th! Time for chapter 3!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings this time either.

" _I'm your God now. The only one who can give you mercy is me. Do you understand?"_

_Gabriel couldn't suppress the slight smile on his face. Typically he would expect reasonably prompt responses, but Crowley's eyes were doing the speaking at the moment. The demon's gaze was unfocused and haunted. There was an added vulnerability to the expression as tears rolled down Crowley's cheeks. Gabriel enjoyed the sweet, wet slide of it under his fingers as he brushed the moisture away._

_Crowley closed his eyes and continued to cry silently as Gabriel stroked a hand through the demon’s hair and wiped away tears as they fell._

His God, _Gabriel thought. He had mostly used the word for impact without giving it much thought in the moment. He turned the word over in his mind as he looked down at his slave._ Is that how I want him to see me?

_Crowley’s prayer had been exactly what he was hoping for. It was utterly defeated and displayed a level of surrender Crowley had never reached until now. Crowley was no longer vying for control or trying to manipulate him. The demon was finally putting himself fully at Gabriel’s mercy, and the rush of satisfaction he felt in response was unparalleled._

Yes, yes it is. But is that how I want him to _address_ me? 

_There was no doubt in Gabriel’s mind that he wanted that level of submission from Crowley; he wanted Crowley to treat him like God. The title itself still didn’t sit right._

_"Yes, master." The solemn tone in Crowley’s voice was music to Gabriel’s ears. It wasn’t ‘God,’ but the way Crowley had spoken the words was so accepting of his judgment that it briefly quelled Gabriel’s flicker of uncertainty._

_"Good."_

_Gabriel made a soft hum of contentment to let Crowley know just how pleased he was. His hand moved through the demon’s hair as he drifted in thought, debating what to do next. Gabriel had planned to make his demon beg to be used in exchange for removing the leather. He wanted Crowley to throw himself at Gabriel’s feet, reverent and willing to do or say anything to please him. However, the sight of Crowley so open to Gabriel's will tempted the Archangel to act immediately. He wanted to bend Crowley over and sink into the warmth of the demon right now._

No. I want him to pray for mercy the moment I return. I want him to beg for it without orders. Once more alone to his suffering might be enough. 

_Gabriel couldn’t give Crowley any distraction from the leather just yet; even a detour into learning to worship properly was far too much of an interruption. Gabriel's softly spoken words slipped from reassuring to intimidating with a natural ease as he finally addressed Crowley._

_“Now, kneel here with your head down where it belongs and pray to_ me. _Your Master_. Your God _._ _Tell me you are sorry. Beg me for mercy, and maybe, just maybe, if you pray long enough just like I’ve taught you, I’ll show you some when I return, alright, sweetheart?"_

_Gabriel used both titles deliberately this time in order to feel them out and see how Crowley would choose to address him._

_“Y-yes, master.”_

_Gabriel could hear the serpent restraining his hiss, so he let the unsteady start pass without comment._

_Crowley calling him master this time didn't feel enough, somehow._

_He watched Crowley settle back down into the proper position. Crowley’s body twitched enticingly; Gabriel could see the demon was fighting against his own instincts to still the involuntary movements. It was without doubt one of his favorite things to witness, Crowley’s form too overcome with terror to be controlled by his desperate mind._

He is perfect like this, trembling before his God. 

_The word was starting to sound right in his mind._

_“That’s a good slave.” Gabriel snapped his fingers, tightening the leather. The soft groan almost became a whimper before Crowley stopped himself._

_That noise_ did things _to Gabriel._

_He had intended to turn and leave right away. Instead, he stood over Crowley and waited to see if the demon would make any further sounds. Gabriel didn’t often derail from his intended plans, but Crowley’s suffering lured him in. He could be convinced to stay, if Crowley continued to fuck up and make noise. Gabriel could draw more tears out of his demon. He could_ really _give Crowley something to make noise over._

_Crowley remained disappointingly, satisfyingly obedient once he had stifled the sound._

I could still do it. I don't need to wait for him to give me a reason. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. Nobody can stop me. _Gabriel itched to lash out, beat Crowley down and feel the demon quaking in his grasp._

_No, staying here any longer would only tempt him. That's just what the treacherous little demon whore wanted from Gabriel, but Crowley had been ordered to pray and hadn't even started yet. The demon's enticing movements and noises were only attempts to manipulate Gabriel, yet again, and Gabriel was far above that. The Archangel turned and stalked toward the exit. He waved his hand at the door of the cell to miracle a doorknob into existence so he could leave._

Yes. I will make him call me what I am: God.

_His hand had barely touched the metal when it happened._

_One second his hand was on the doorknob, and the next he felt like he was on fire, surrounded by a vast darkness. A caustic, bitter smell filled his lungs and burned his mouth, nostrils, and eyes. It consumed him and left him feeling like he was burning up from the inside._

This… can’t be happening.

_He knew now why they called it falling. It was almost immediate. There was nothing he could do to fight it, nor run from it. Time felt distorted by the waves of pain. All he could do was wait for it to end - and wait to hit the bottom._

_Eventually the pain subsided enough for Gabriel to try and get his bearings. There was nothing but solid black no matter where he looked. Within the dark void he could see something brilliantly white floating in midair, far in the distance. Gabriel forced himself toward it, although moving even slightly was draining._

_It was a single sheet of paper - so bright in contrast to everything else that it hurt to look at. Gabriel squinted to try and see it better. It seemed to be a contract or form - entirely blank. It rippled in the air as it floated, suspended by nothing. Gabriel reached out to grasp it so he would be able to hold it still enough to read, and the burning of his corporation surged. He tried to throw the paper away and found that he couldn’t let go._

_Gabriel watched as the form slowly filled out with every sin or wrongdoing he had ever committed. There was no way to speed the process up, and reading his sins as they were listed was far from adequate distraction. Gabriel groaned into the void. His life was long, and some of the errors being listed were so minor he might have scoffed if not for the pain. He braced himself for another eternity in agony as the form slowly completed._

This can’t be real. It has to be a warning - a convincing illusion. She wouldn’t just toss me, one of her best angels, away, would She?

_The page was pulling his body away from him. Or perhaps forcefully pushing his soul out. He felt the connection to his physical form weakening. By the time the form was done filling out, Gabriel’s body had been consumed, destroyed by the form or the void, he wasn’t sure. He was fully discorporated and the form was nowhere to be seen._

_No corporation meant no more pain, at least for now. With his mind free from fiery distraction, Gabriel was finally able to focus his mind and reassess the situation. He was mildly surprised to find himself oddly at peace with the concept of falling, now that the agony had subsided._

_Slowly the dark void faded around him. The room he found himself in took the shape of a cell. Three walls were solid black rock. The wall that faced the hallway was made of the same rock but it formed bars that Gabriel could see through. Across the hallway was another cell, filled with multiple souls. They talked with each other with varying degrees of emotion in their voices. Some were outraged, others horrified and despondent, most were hushed and fearful as they likely should be, considering the circumstances._

No warnings then. This is Hell without a doubt.

_He had fallen into Hell and_ survived _._

_There was something undeniably empowering about that._

_Gabriel was alone in his cell. He felt no small amount of relief at that. He didn’t exactly feel like explaining to humans what they might be in for, or feel like sharing enough for them to speculate on what he was doing here._

_Trying to leave the cell resulted in his soul being shoved back toward the center of the room. Of course the walls were warded to prevent him from leaving._

_Heaven had a similar department, although there typically wasn’t any sort of line or wait. You’d be greeted and guided immediately, and given a corporation if you met certain requirements for one. Souls weren’t trapped; you were free to leave at any time - it was just pleasant enough that most didn’t want to._

_He looked down the hall in both directions and saw nobody with a body. Just endless cells and terrified souls packed into most of them. He expected as much, but was not about to settle for such inconveniences._

_"Excuse me! Hello? Is anyone here_ actually _doing their jobs?"_

_After some time, Gabriel could hear footsteps down the hall. A raggedy looking demon - hair matted and crusty in places, clothing equally dirty and covered in holes - walked down the cells with a bored, assessing expression. He was holding a clipboard._

_“You! Get over here and do your job. It’s rude to keep others waiting on you, you know.” The demon glanced up at Gabriel, raised a single brow but made no move to come closer. Gabriel’s tone was demanding and confident. “Go get Beelzebub. They’ll want to know I’m here.”_

_The demon gave a single huffed breath and snapped his fingers. Then he turned to address the souls in other cells,_ before Gabriel.

_Gabriel was being ignored. He was not_ used _to being ignored. He did not_ appreciate _being ignored._

_He raised his voice on multiple other occasions, but none of the demons tending to the souls paid him any attention. It became clear they couldn’t hear him once one of the demons was within range and Gabriel realized he couldn’t hear out anymore, either._

Little shit muted my entire cell. _Gabriel fumed, allowing himself to imagine how he would properly repay the favor if given the opportunity. It was a decent distraction for a few moments, but not nearly captivating enough to fixate on for long._

_To pass the time, Gabriel thought of what he planned to do once released. Crowley was likely still in Heaven, on his knees, wrapped up tightly in the leather. He seethed at the thought of Crowley being cared for by anyone else, of Crowley being_ healed. 

_Crowley was_ his. _He wasn’t sure how he was going to get the snake back under his heel at the moment, but he knew one thing for sure._

_Crowley_ would _be his once more. Then, Gabriel would make Crowley_ pay _for this._

_Gabriel watched the demon and his fellow department workers sort through souls for what felt like a small eternity. They had sentenced hundreds of human souls and reincorporated even more demons before the raggedy demon finally snapped his fingers and turned to Gabriel._

_All at once the silence faded away and Gabriel could hear once more. He hadn’t realized the silencing had actually been a blessing in disguise. The chatter of souls within the hall returned in a deafening rush and Gabriel almost wished he’d been allowed to keep the sensory block._

_The demon held a hand out toward Gabriel and snapped again. Gabriel watched a paper float out of his soul and fly over to rest on the clipboard in the demon’s grasp._

_When he spoke, the demon’s voice was raspy and nasally in a manner that was immediately grating. If Hell had ever needed a spokes-demon for chain smoking, this was their guy. He read over the clipboard and spoke mostly to himself._

_“Let’s see... Still all alone over here, huh? Hell must think whatever you’ve done is right special, pal.”_

_“I believe I am.” Gabriel defended himself with an air of pride._

_“Yeah. Right. You and everyone else, buddy. Shut it, I’m working here.” The demon scoffed before looking down at the paper more intently. “Treating those below him in authority disrespectfully… Easy one to serve out. You’ll be treated like garbage down here, princess.”_

_Gabriel cringed at the nickname and was about to protest when the demon continued._

_“Lying and obscuring the truth. General disrespect for life on Earth.” He shook his head and groaned, tapping the clipboard and magically changing the page number he was viewing. “Boring. You can’t be over here all alone in this cell for this lame stuff. What are you_ really _here for?” He skimmed the new page over with a frown before lighting up with an appropriately devilish grin across foul-looking teeth that Gabriel was thankful he didn’t have the corporation to smell. He was positive the entire demon likely had a foul odor, but that mouth? Horrendous._

_“Now_ here’s _the interesting stuff! You were a_ freak, _huh? Into some really dark shit, aren’t you, princess? You wanna admit some of these yourself, or should I? These ones are going to be a_ lot _more interesting to get you to pay for.” The demon was noticeably excited by what he had found on the page. Gabriel glanced down to notice it wasn’t all professional interest, either - even through the raggedness of the demon’s clothing Gabriel could see the obvious bulge forming within the demon’s pants._

_On second thought, maybe it was extremely professional by Hell’s standards? Gabriel might have cringed at the thought if he had been able to._

_He had no intention of becoming Hell’s bitch, no matter what its residents believed he deserved. That was not how this was going to go._

_Gabriel did not let the demon affect his calm demeanor in the slightest. His tone was far from patient, but he kept his utter disgust and fury at the demon’s behaviour hidden easily. “I would like to speak with Beelzeb-”_

_“We aren’t done here, princess. We just got to the good stuff. Branding a sentient being? You don’t see that one every day! A spectacle to dish out punishment for, too. Enslaving an intelligent being? Not quite as uncommon but still very impressive! That one adds a good chunk of play time for us to enjoy. Physical torture, rape. Both very fun ones to punish. That extra time won’t be boring, thanks to those two. Can’t wait to see how you handle_ that… _” The demon paused between each item he listed off to look at Gabriel with increasingly desirous looks._

_His face paled at the next thing he read, “The_ fuck _!?” The demon gave Gabriel a look of utter repulsion and disgust. “Holy water torture? You weren’t human? That’s…”_

_He shook his head in disbelief, his matted hair stiff and barely moving with the gesture. “That’s fucked up, dude. Must be my lucky day. We haven’t had an angel in forever!”_

_Gabriel hoped the realization that he was an angel might clue the demon in to why he was requesting to see the Prince of Hell himself. “That is correct. Now could I please speak with B-”_

_“Yeah, yeah. You’ve said. You’ll be sentenced like everyone else, got it?” He frowned and paused for a few seconds. “Well, shit... once I figure out_ how. _It’s been that long. I don’t know the protocol for handling angels…” The demon glanced around, before he looked down the hall and shouted obnoxiously. “Yo, Belet! Need your help over here!” The sound echoed through the hall in a way that left Gabriel feeling unsettled._

_Gabriel watched the demon in front of him look much more carefully through a few of the pages of his documentation. He glared up at Gabriel and grumbled angrily. “But you didn’t_ kill _the demon you tortured, huh? I’m not seeing murder in your paperwork anywhere, and Selnas didn’t have any orders to fuck with angels when he went missing. Guess you aren’t the fuckhead who offed him.”_

_Gabriel remained silent. The demon had refused to listen enough times that Gabriel felt no need to engage further. He couldn’t tell if this demon was relieved or upset that he hadn’t killed this Selnas demon. He filed the information away for potential later use. Heaven and Hell didn’t typically go after each other, so he had to assume a missing demon would cause the same stir a missing angel did._

_He had never given it thought before now. Gabriel figured Hell didn’t care about anyone. If a human soul went missing, sure, Hell might be upset at whatever demon dropped the ball, but a demon? He had figured nobody would pay it any mind._

_He wondered if they were equally invested in Crowley being gone as long as he had been. Or maybe a month wasn’t long enough to spark concern? Gabriel only checked in with anyone who reported to him from Earth every month, and Hell was supposed to endorse sloth, weren't they?_

_“What about Selnas?” Another demon strode down the hall. Belet was taller than his ragged friend who had summoned him, and only slightly better groomed. His hair wasn’t matted, but it was greasy or oily in a way that seemed to indicate lack of personal care. It only took one small miracle to look sharp, but clearly that was not on the demonic to-do list before showing up for duty in Hell. Gabriel was yet again thankful he had no sense of smell._

_He made a mental note to not allow his corporation to have that sense while in Hell. If these two were any indication of what was in store, it wouldn't be pleasant._

_“Oh, nothing. Thought this guy here might be our guy. He’s not, though. No murder, and I really doubt Selnas initiated enough to justify self-defense.”_

_Belet groaned. “Damn. Why’d you call me over if we aren’t settling any bets?” He snatched the clipboard from the other demon and looked over it more intently, tapping and swiping at the page to change what it displayed._

_“He’s an angel, Belet! I wasn’t around for that.” The shorter demon gestured at Gabriel with a frustrated jab. “You were here back when Hell still got angels. What do I do with him? How does sentencing one of them work exactly?”_

_Belet mostly ignored the younger demon until he, too, read something that caused him to pale and become visibly concerned. “Uhh… Seri… you reincorporate this one and get on with your day.”_

_“Why? I'm not done looking through what he's here for! I haven't tallied his sins! What department am I supposed to send him to if-"_

_Belet pointed at the bottom of the page and handed the clipboard back to the younger demon._

_Seri looked down. His eyes widened instantly. “Oh, fuck.” He looked up at Gabriel sharply. “An Archangel? Capital A? What was your former name, Archangel?”_

Finally. _Now maybe they would start listening to him. “Gabriel.”_

_Seri moaned in mild anguish. “Fuck. Beelzebub is_ so _going to discorporate me.”_

_“Why?” Belet asked, brow raised._

_“The way he demanded my attention - acting all high and mighty and important - pissed me off. I muted his cell and ignored him for a week? Maybe two?” Seri grumbled and glared at Gabriel like this was somehow_ his _doing._

_Belet nodded. “Yep. Beelzebub is gonna murder you. It’ll probably be swift, though? They tend to be too busy to draw it out these days." He placed a hand on Seri's shoulder, sympathetically. "I got your back when you land in a cell, though.”_

_Seri rolled his eyes. “Wow. Thanks. That makes it_ all _better.”_

_“If only you’d listened to me,” Gabriel pointed out. He hoped Beelzebub gave him the pleasure of watching. Seeing how Hell operated firsthand could only be helpful to him in the long run, and highly satisfying in the moment._

_The younger demon turned to glare at Gabriel. Seri shoved the clipboard back at Belet without looking at the other demon. “Shut it, you. You’ll get yours one day.” His eyes narrowed, then he turned away swiftly and stomped off down the hall. He called over his shoulder. “Reincorporate him, Belet. I’ll tell B.”_

We’ll see about that. I’ll get something all right, but it won’t be what _you_ want. It’ll be what _I_ want. _Gabriel resisted his urge to glare at the demon’s back as he walked away, not wanting Belet to see the hostility aimed at Seri._

_Belet shrugged and turned to Gabriel. “This sucks the first time. I assume you know what to do.”_

_Gabriel nodded. It had been a while, but he had been discorporated more than once before. Humans were easily frightened and even quicker to defend themselves from entities appearing out of nowhere via blinding light or lighting strikes as modes of transportation. He learned to aim further away after a few mishaps._

_Belet snapped his fingers and Gabriel immediately felt his soul crystalize into flesh. Everything felt normal with the exception of his neck. A small patch of skin to the left of his Adam’s apple burned intensely as his body finished settling. Something was definitely there, but there wasn’t any way he could see it right now._

_Gabriel snapped his fingers and clothed himself. He frowned down at the suit, not feeling entirely_ right _in something he’d miracled himself rather than tailored by humans. He adjusted his tie slightly and snapped once more. A hand mirror appeared in his grasp. He held it up and was pleasantly surprised to see that not much had changed from his previous appearance._

_His eyes were now consistently a vibrant purple, rather than the shifting intensity his Heavenly corporation had possessed. Most demons had inhuman eyes that were far harder to disguise, so he was relieved by this change. The inconsistency and abnormal coloring of his Angelic gaze worked when on the clock, but when jogging or buying clothing he had needed to conceal those qualities to blend in. With the color stabilized, he could probably dress to match and play it off as contacts, human fashion._

_The other noticeable change was the reason his neck burned before, thankfully dulling in pain rapidly now. A mostly black symbol that resembled a tattoo marked his flesh. It was in the shape of a predatory bird; subtle violet highlights embellished the feathers and delineated the eye. He tilted his head to get a better look._

Now that’s interesting.

_Gabriel found his gaze irresistibly drawn to it, unable to look away. It was clearly part of him he had no control over; he’d felt the pain of it. Seeing it after the burn had faded left him feeling slightly at odds with himself. He was undeniably a demon, now. While waiting for someone to address him in the cell, he had thought only of what he’d do once he was allowed the freedom to_ leave _Hell, but hadn’t given much thought to his exact shift in status. He’d thought of his loss of Heaven, and new necessary allegiance to Hell, but he’d not thought of becoming a demon much at all._

_What thoughts he_ did _have were mostly proven incorrect just now. Apart from the fall itself, there was no fanfare or additional agony when becoming a demon. His spiritual presence here in Hell hadn't felt different from the last time he'd been discorporated as an Archangel. And being given a new, demonic body seemed identical to his experiences in Heaven, apart from the burning mark on his neck._

_Had the demonic mark been on his soul before his corporation reformed? Would it have even made a difference if it wasn’t?_

I could have been a clean slate, if it wasn’t. Maybe an angel could have restored my angelic status? If I had been able to convince Hell to let my soul go. _Gabriel excelled at persuasion. He felt sure he_ could _have become an angel again, if that were possible._

_Gabriel found a complete lack of disappointment, anger, or loss at the lack of opportunity. What was done was done and he wouldn’t be going back. He didn’t know if he even_ wanted _to, not that it mattered if he did. It was unlikely he would have remained an Archangel, and there was no chance he’d be re-promoted to one. Losing your rank in Heaven was unheard of. Even if he had been the first to un-fall and become an angel again, he was sure Heaven wouldn’t accept him with open arms._

No sense in thinking about it. Time to look forward.

_He snapped the mirror away and looked at Belet, who simply nodded, then jotted a few things down on the clipboard before dropping it and going off to attend to other souls. Rather than hitting the floor with the clatter Gabriel expected, the clipboard appeared to fall_ through _the floor. He wondered idly if records were kept below them._

More efficient than running them downstairs. 

_Gabriel had to appreciate that kind of thing, although he imagined the occupational hazard of working below might mean being struck in the head more often than desired. He made a note to request a different department if Hell forced him to work his way from the very bottom._

* * *

_It did not take long for the Prince of Hell to arrive. The hallway fell silent as they walked toward Gabriel’s cell. There was a buzzing that got steadily louder as they approached._

_Gabriel saw that Beelzebub was alone once they rounded a corner and came into view. They were mumbling to themselves right until they set eyes on Gabriel._

_“Fucking heaven.” Beelzebub swore under their breath, looking Gabriel up and down. “You look like abzzsolute shit.”_

_“I… look the same?” Gabriel wasn’t sure what Beelzebub was referring to. If anything, he felt he should be saying the same of Beelzebub. The Prince was covered in pustules all over their face, and a swarm of flies surrounded their head. They definitely had looked better the handful of times Gabriel had crossed paths with Beelzebub on Earth._

_“Exzzactly,” they drawled out a buzzed response that made Gabriel’s skin crawl. “You could’ve made improvementzz and instead you went with thiszz?” Disappointment weighed heavy in their tone._

_“Well, it’s good to see your attitude towards your colleagues is better than around your competitors.” Gabriel prevented himself from rolling his eyes, but did not fully cover the sarcasm in his response._

_Beelzebub’s frown, which seemed to be an omnipresent feature of the Prince rather than something they reserved for dealing with the enemy, deepened in confusion. “I don’t...”_

_Gabriel fixed his gaze on them and raised a single brow. His tone was patronizing. “It’s the same.”_

_The few demon onlookers still in the hallway shifted nervously during the beat of would-be silence, if not for the buzzing._

_“Ah. Very amuszzing.” It was impossible to tell how the Prince truly felt about the comment, but Gabriel still had a body, so the insult couldn’t have landed too poorly. Beelzebub snapped their fingers and several of the dark, obsidian bars slid up into the ceiling. Gabriel immediately felt the air around him lighten as the ward on his cell fizzled away. They barked out a single order before walking away. “Follow.”_

_Gabriel followed the Prince through the winding, confusing narrow hallways. Hell was just about as disgusting as Gabriel had anticipated, although in slightly different ways than the horror stories angels in Heaven had always told. He had heard the tales of rotting flesh and dismembered corpses lining the walls and found far more flyers, paper waste and general garbage than the cadaverous horrors he had been prepared for._

_The halls were cramped, but demons parted to make room for the Prince. Signage was poor. Gabriel anticipated needing to memorize his way around by experience. Signs with purpose seemed missing entirely, or had text too small to read from a distance, or the words were faded or rubbed away until they were a barely legible scrawl. Signs without much purpose other than to lower overall morale were easily seen. You would have to try to not have at least one or two in your vision while moving from room to room; they sported fonts several times larger than strictly necessary._

_At last they arrived at a room with a heavy metal door. There was no label to indicate what was within. Beelzebub swung the door open and stepped inside. Gabriel was mildly surprised when the Prince actually held the door open for him rather than letting it swing closed on his face. He nodded to them in acknowledgement and scanned the room to find several demons lounging about, watching television, playing pool, and chatting._

_One of the demons rose from his seat and walked over to them. He recognized Gabriel immediately and outrage mixed with fear across his face. “Woah! Hey, B, what’s an Arch-” His words cut off abruptly as he neared them enough to notice the mark on Gabriel’s neck. “No way! You are one of us now!? That’s… a big fucking deal!”_

_Other demons in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Gabriel and Beelzebub. Excitedly, they whispered to each other. One of them near the back of the room spoke up over the crowd. “What do we call him?”_

_The Prince buzzed in irritation over the commotion. “I waszz going to start calling him As-”_

_“Gabriel.” Gabriel spoke up over Beelzebub with a commanding tone._

_Beelzebub tilted their head to look up at Gabriel with narrowed eyes that seemed to say they considered him especially dense. “That’szz not really how this works.”_

_“I’m not changing my name, Beelzebub. I’ve been called Gabriel for thousands of years,” he stated calmly._

_Beelzebub was still looking at him like he was stupid, although Gabriel was beginning to think this was about as common as the frown and not aimed at him so much as it tended to be aimed at the entire universe._

_“It’szz not a very demonic name.”_

“ _Then I’ll just have to make it one, won’t I?” Gabriel’s tone shifted from matter of fact into menacing, dark and threatening. He glared at Beelzebub, challenging them to protest. When the Prince remained silent, he relaxed his demeanor into something resembling boredom. “Is there a reason we came to this room?”_

_Beelzebub looked at Gabriel for a few seconds, seeming to size him up, eyes a wary glare. They settled back into their usual annoyance quickly and addressed the room’s occupants. “Right. Everybody out.”_

_One of the demons actually had the nerve to speak up. “B-but this is-”_

_“No longer a break room, and if you question me again, your exzecution hall. I already have one delayed reincorporation order to file with Dagon today. I can easzzily make it two.” A few of the demons got up immediately at the threat and scampered out of the room. Beelzebub snarled at the demons still remaining. “Did you lot not hear me? This is Gabriel’szz office now. Take your zzsloth zzsomewhere elzse.”_

_All of the demons left the room with the exception of one, who stopped right in front of Beelzebub. He glanced nervously between Gabriel and the Prince. “With all due respect, Lord Beelzebub, why’s_ this guy... _” He gestured toward Gabriel sharply. “... get an office on day one?_ Some _of us have been working our asses off for centuries.”_

_“_ Thiszz _guy is a former Archangel, Marquis._ He’szz _getting a limited opportunity to advance to Duke because he has information about Heaven’s operations that you couldn’t hope to shit out if you ate nothing but angels your entire life. Maybe if you_ really _wanted the title you’d be out doing your job and not wazzsting your time in rec roomszz.” The Prince spoke with a biting venom in their words. “Get. Out.” Beelzebub punctuated the order with a raised hand that crackled with hellfire._

_The demon glared at Gabriel and left the room with a sullen growl of frustration, leaving the two of them alone. Beelzebub shook the fire from their hand and snapped all in one motion, cleaning the room of all objects, save for a rather rickety looking desk, chair, and a few empty shelves._

_Beelzebub made a soft huff in dissatisfaction. “There. Good enough. Do what you want with it. Now, you probably have a lot to processzz and I have even more work to get done, thankszz to you. Any questionszz before I go?”_

_Gabriel had more than a few questions, but the one that burned brightest was about something the Prince had said. “You mentioned me becoming a Duke? What exactly_ is _my current rank?”_

_“I have to run my ideazz by Lucifer, but yeszz. Your rank and powers aren’t what they were.” Beelzebub paused, as if debating how much to tell him. “Your fall has left Heaven vulnerable. We’d be foolish not to take advantage, but even that will take some time to plan while you train and get a grasp on your powers.”_

_“Train? I’m able to use my powers just fine. thank you.” Gabriel rebutted, insulted as he snapped a luxury watch into his hand to prove his point. He examined it, snapped again to alter the colors slightly darker before putting it on. “Let me do real work. Let me advance.”_

_Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “Yeszz, you can do simple miracleszz. A fresh human recruit can move or manipulate objectszz, Gabriel. Temptations and more complex miracleszz will take more practiczze. Asszuming Lucifer approveszz of my plan, you’ll start training tomorrow. When you are ready, we’ll talk missions and more elaborate planszz.”_

_“Why not fill me in now?”_

_“Such information is far above your ranking. Don’t be impatient, Gabriel.”_

_“You just said it would be best to strike while Heaven is weak. Promote me and give me access to greater powers. Then I’ll help you take Heaven down.”_

_“You’ll be doing that regardlesszz of how quickly_ anyone _promoteszz you.” The flies around Beelzebub swarmed a little faster as their patience slipped and tone grew more irritated. “You’ll go where Hell demandszz, and go nowhere else. When you are ready, we will talk.”_

_“So, I’m a prisoner now?”_

_“No. Worszze. A recklesszz newbie.” Beelzebub heaved a great sigh. “How many new recruits does Heaven send to Earth.?”_

_“None, but our new recruits aren’t fallen Archangels.”_

_Beelzebub continued on as if they had only heard Gabriel utter the first word of his response. "And how many of them think they are invincible and want to prove themselves?"_

_"Don't compare me to_ humans _, Beelzebub." Gabriel glared, voice nearly a threatening growl as he bit out his response through angrily clenched teeth._

_"Then stop acting like one. Get your powerszz in line firszt. If Heaven seesz you running around Earth with only a moderate graszp on your new abilitiesz, they'll dunk you in holy water and our advantage will be loszt. Get your promotions when you’ve earned them. Then we'll talk about plans." They squinted at Gabriel, suspicion obvious. "Why do you want to go back to Earth szo quickly anywaysz? You hate Earth."_

_Gabriel said nothing. He just scowled and looked angrier. He_ didn’t _particularly care for Earth, no, but it was certainly less crowded and better lit than here. Why did all the lights in Hell seem to either flicker or hum or_ both? _He had kept many of Crowley’s cells dim, but that was by_ choice. _Here in Hell, it wasn’t even an option. The entire dimension seemed to be plagued with such imperfections that just a simple glance around his new office was already grating to his patience._

It would be nice to have someone to take that irritation out on, but it seems like that isn’t an option for a while. _Gabriel pictured Crowley serving him here in Hell and couldn’t help the satisfied smirk the vision pulled from him._ I won’t have to hide what you really are in Hell, sweetheart. Enjoy your break while you have it.

_Beelzebub didn’t wait for Gabriel to pull himself from his mind in order to continue speaking. "If you want your revenge for falling, get in line. You are far from the firszzt. Lucifer is going to want you to stay in Hell forever. He's going to say your knowledge is too important to risk in the field. I'm on your side here, you idiot."_

_"_ Why _exactly are you on my side?"_

_"I have my reasonszz.” The Prince walked toward the door and placed their hand on the knob before looking over their shoulder. “Be ready to start tomorrow, Gabriel. I'll be checking in regularly." Then Beelzebub swung the door open and slammed it shut behind themselves before anything more could be said._

_Gabriel was alone. With a sweep of his hand, he tidied the office as much as Hell would allow. Some mold and damp, a few leaky parts of the room seemed irreparable. Not to mention there would be no windows, no view to ever speak of. His office in Heaven could have whatever view he liked. He knew he would miss that. The entire room was incredibly underwhelming, but at least it was a room away from the noise of the rest of Hell. Aside from the terrible hum of the lights, the door seemed to block out the chatter of demons from the hallway._ Disappointing, but could be far worse.

_A few snaps gave him a sturdier desk, a more comfortable chair, and less flimsy shelves._

_He hated that Beelzebub was right._

_Even those few miracles took considerable effort and left him drained in a way he wasn’t sure he had ever experienced before._

Annoying.  
_  
_ Yet under all the annoyance and disappointment, Gabriel felt an odd sense of freedom and power. He felt relieved.

_Gabriel had spent a great deal of time following the rules and investing time and energy into_ not falling. _Keeping up appearances was exhausting. Now, he had already fallen and survived. There was no more to lose and only everything to gain. Gabriel felt he could withstand anything - he couldn’t overpower anything yet but he could only get more powerful from here on out._

_For the first time ever, Gabriel had the promise of freedom to use his power however he pleased. He had spent millennia in Heaven sitting at the top with power that was shackled. What he could do, how he could do things, and to whom he could do them to was limited._

_Every bit of power he earned back would be all his now. It didn’t matter that he had to spend some time or effort to get there, because once he had it, he could actually_ use _it. If anything, being at the bottom motivated him. He wouldn’t just conquer Crowley now, oh no, he would conquer all of Hell._

_Any demon who didn’t know who he was would be in for a rude awakening if they didn’t take notes quickly and learn to stay out of his way._

_He could rise to the top. He_ would _rise to the top._

And once I am there, there is no judgment. I’ll earn the fear and respect I couldn’t hope to earn in Heaven. And Crowley, sweetheart, once the time is right, you’ll be mine and nobody will dare to challenge that.

_Getting there was going to be just as enjoyable as the end result, he could already tell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> Unfortunately, I have some bad news regarding the scheduled post date of Chapter 4. There is going to be a delay.
> 
> I really struggled to make this call. I want this fic to have a schedule. I planned to avoid this, but sometimes things come up and make delays unavoidable. I posted Chapter 1 while expecting to move homes next year, in Jan or Feb. I anticipated being able to write enough chapters to keep up with posting and create/maintain a backlog of finished content so even if I couldn't write a month or two around my move, I'd be covered.
> 
> Then, just after Chapter 2 was posted, I was told to move out by the end of August. 
> 
> I only have a few chapters of backlog right now, and they flow into each other much more heavily than these 3 do. It's important to me that y'all don't end up waiting forever on chapters in the future once the story really starts rolling, and chapter 4 onward is really where things start getting good. 
> 
> I debated October, but I fear having to delay Chapter 5 until November due to lack of completed backlog. Ideally I'd like to return with more backlog than when I started posting, that way I'm unlikely to need to rush or delay in the future.
> 
> So Chapter 4 will go live on November 4th!
> 
> Again, I'm sorry for the delay! Please trust me when I say it'll be worth the wait!
> 
> I look forward to seeing what you all think of this chapter, and hopefully seeing you when I return! Thank you again so much for your support thus far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you for all the wonderful support on chapter 3 and your patience for chapter 4! 
> 
> It's November 4th! I hope you are all ready for this story to continue!
> 
> I'd also like to thank [DreamsofSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsofSpike) once again for her continued support, beta work, and feedback on this story!
> 
> Special shoutout to the DiP group chat and comment crew as well. I think I may have gone a little crazy without DiP updating while on posting haitus.
> 
> Please read to the end of the notes after the chapter this week! There's a special announcement down below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings this time.

Within the blink of an eye, Aziraphale went from the cold, bleak cell in Heaven to the front of his warm, inviting bookshop. It was always a bit disorienting to be teleported by someone else, but Aziraphale didn’t argue the offer as he normally would.

He'd need every bit of his energy to tend to Crowley.

Aziraphale wished they had been placed in the back with the sofa, but they'd easily be able to move there once Crowley recovered. Aziraphale snapped his fingers to disconnect the chain from Crowley's collar, and wound it around his hand several times to store it away. He walked to his desk to place the chain in one of the drawers before setting the heavenly manual down with the remote on top of it. Once returned to Crowley's side, he snapped to dispel the sensory block.

"Crowley, dear?" 

Aziraphale was afraid to reach out and touch Crowley for fear of causing pain or further startling him. Crowley did not respond. The only indication the demon was alive at all was his slight breathing, or the occasional muscle twitch. Crowley remained in the same position he'd been in up in Heaven - hunched over his knees on the ground, head to the floor and wings drawn in protectively around himself. 

"Crowley, my love, can you hear me?" 

Aziraphale reached out to run a few gentle fingers through Crowley's hair - the only place he could see that looked mostly unharmed. It was just as soft and pleasing to touch now as he had remembered. Aziraphale hoped the reassuring gesture might bring Crowley out of his own mind. 

Still... no response.

Aziraphale gently pulled on a wing to extend it. Crowley let himself be moved without resistance. The same was true of his arms. This led to the upsetting discovery that Crowley would hold his limbs exactly how he was posed. His wing trembled to stay extended vertically after Aziraphale had lifted it to get a better look at potential damage underneath. He nudged the wing to collapse back and the gesture was not enough to get Crowley to relax it. Aziraphale carefully folded the wing back with a frown. Crowley stayed silent even though some of the movement must have hurt terribly. 

The moment Aziraphale tried to move Crowley's torso or lift his head from the floor, Crowley strained against the pressure to stay as he was. 

"Sorry. Please, God... I'm sorry," Crowley pleaded while more tears fell from behind shut eyes. He didn't lash out, but he struggled and pulled from Aziraphale's grasp to be free to return to his position. He'd barely been shifted by Aziraphale at all, but Crowley acted despondent, as if he was certain he'd done wrong somehow.

_ As if he expects dire consequences for moving… _

Aziraphale strongly disliked the thought, but the evidence seemed to speak for itself. Aziraphale stopped pulling on Crowley, and the demon relaxed immediately.

"Th-thank you. Thank you."

This couldn't be his Crowley. His proud, sarcastic demon who thought on his feet and joked through the worst of times. This had to be a test or a trap. He had wanted this to just be an act by Crowley to ensure Aziraphale was brought into the situation. He had been hopeful that Crowley was actually somehow more okay than he appeared and was just doing what he needed to do while in the presence of so many angels. The real Crowley couldn't possibly be this broken. 

Heaven wasn’t a place that broke people.

Or at least, he had believed that before. Now it seemed to be no more than a desperate hope that was being shattered by the evidence before Aziraphale’s own eyes..

What had they done to Crowley to cause this?

Aziraphale had the sudden urge to document, so he could research and find out more later. He wanted to heal Crowley, but once Crowley was able to speak it might not be so easy to document anymore. 

_ This mute stillness could be a blessing in disguise, for the moment. _

Aziraphale walked over to his desk and grabbed an empty notebook. Page by page he went through the notebook, tapping the blank pages and filling them with images of what he saw, occasionally holding the book up to be sure the miracled impressions were accurate. 

In the past, any truly demonic work he'd taken notes on he would have taken to Crowley. Oftentimes, Crowley would know why certain demonic things had happened, or give him warnings to stay away. And anything else he would have taken to Heaven to see what, if anything, he should do to intervene. 

_ Who am I to take the evidence to if the good guys are the ones who caused this?  _

Aziraphale realized halfway through recording that there could  _ be _ nobody worth showing the evidence to at all. He had spent so much of his time on Earth recording and archiving that he found himself unable to resist the pull into the familiar routine of it when stressed to his limits. But this was no rare book project or uncommon demonic intervention. 

This was  _ Crowley _ , and his suffering and fear were no act. 

Aziraphale doubled his pace and finished creating the impressions he had yet to get clearly. He moved Crowley's wings and arms as necessary to get the pictures he needed and made sure they were left in positions that wouldn’t cause additional strain for the demon. 

The impression Aziraphale saved for last made his stomach churn angrily. A scar at the base of Crowley's spine that was made up of three words in Enochian: Gabriel and Crowley's names, interwoven with the word for slave.

This mark was intentional. There was no way it was the result of torture, even one as deliberately slow as the leather strips. It was placed there with purpose. 

By Gabriel. The Archangel Aziraphale had most often reported to. Crowley's keeper, Michael had said. Aziraphale was having a hard time thinking about Gabriel in such a light. He'd seen his boss as a stickler for rules and more than a bit of a perfectionist at the worst. 

Gabriel was always a bit dense and unconcerned with human matters, considering how long he'd been serving as messenger. The Archangel looked down on humanity; but then, so did most of Heaven. Aziraphale was the odd one in that regard. The fact that he found so much about humans, their cultures and inventions, delightful was far from common and had nearly gotten Aziraphale into trouble more than once. But general disdain and the desire to  _ crush _ under your own heel were two very different matters, and Gabriel had never shown any signs of violence. 

Crowley may have been lower than humanity in the Archangel's eyes, but Aziraphale couldn't believe that meant such cruelty could be abided. He'd never thought of Gabriel as a torturer, much less someone with enough hatred to enslave another living creature, human or demon.

The evidence was too clear to discount.

Gabriel’s disappearance did not leave Aziraphale with a very hopeful feeling in his gut.

Those thoughts had no place right now. He needed to help Crowley, and there wasn't anything more that could be done with the demon hunched over himself in the front of the bookshop. Aziraphale checked over the impressions in his notebook one final time, then placed it back on his desk. 

Aziraphale loathed it, but he knew he needed to move Crowley. The only time thus far that Crowley had given any indication of being alive at all was when he was urged to change positions. This wasn't going to be easy, but it had to be done. Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s shoulders and forced him upright.

“No! No, no, no, please, no! Wait, I mean-” Crowley wailed and pushed against Aziraphale to return his head to the ground. The demon’s eyes fluttered open and swept across the floor, frantic and desperate for a moment as he realized he would not be allowed to return to the position. His gaze shut tight and he began to tremble in Aziraphale’s grasp. “Not no. I’m sorry. Please. I didn’t mean no. I’m sorry.”

"You aren’t in Heaven anymore, Crowley.” Aziraphale hoped the declaration would cause Crowley to look around and realize where he was, realize he was safe now. 

Crowley’s eyes remained closed.

“I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Please.” Crowley repeated the sentiment over and over as he continued to shiver, but stopped resisting the new upright position. “I promise. I promise I’ll be good. Please.”

Aziraphale spoke softly. “Crowley, it’s me, Aziraphale."

Crowley quaked terribly; his terror only seemed to worsen. "I'm sorry. I'll be good. Please." His words were drenched in fear.

“Crowley...” Aziraphale knew his words weren't getting through. He needed Crowley to open his eyes, at the very least, if he was going to calm the demon down. “Please, look at me.”

Crowley slowly looked up at him, but still dared gaze no higher than Aziraphale’s shoulders. The demon’s expression appeared haunted and his eyes unfocused. 

“Can you see me?” Aziraphale kept his tone light and hopeful, despite Crowley’s expression creating a black hole of despair in his mind.

Crowley nodded once. The motion was jerky, with a short pause after the downward movement, as if Crowley were fighting the urge to keep his head lowered.

“Do you know who I am?”

“A-Aziraphale?” Crowley’s voice and expression were caught somewhere between confused and hopeful before panic set in. “N-no! I’m s-sorry.” He closed his eyes and curled back in toward the floor. “No! I’m sorry. Please, oh God. Please.”

Aziraphale stopped Crowley before he could retreat completely. He scooped Crowley into his arms and rose to his feet, then made his way toward the back room. Crowley began to cry as he was carried, but Aziraphale had had enough of Crowley shivering on the floor. 

Aziraphale was beginning to feel hopeless in the face of Crowley's blinding distress. Opening his eyes had not led to the revelation Aziraphale had been anticipating.

“You keep saying please. Please what, my dear?” Aziraphale asked gently as he settled them both down on the sofa. He held Crowley’s hands with his own and moved his thumbs in soothing circles over the demon’s skin.

Crowley was clearly not comfortable being on the sofa. The demon glanced almost longingly at the carpet at their feet before letting his gaze settle on their hands with a quiet horror in his eyes. He swallowed and took a few seconds to compose himself. Crowley finally spoke through quiet, quaking breaths. 

“P-please don’t hurt me, master.”

The response caused Aziraphale to go still and withdrew his hand in concern that he might be causing Crowley unintended discomfort. Crowley bristled the second he was free and shifted to the carpet. He wasn’t curled up anymore, although he now kept his posture in the form of the upright kneel Aziraphale had held him in earlier. 

_ Well, it’s a bit better than the bare wood floor, I suppose. He called me ‘master.’ Crowley truly has no idea where he is or who he’s talking to.  _

"I'm not your master, Crowley." Aziraphale carefully corrected Crowley in hope that it might get the demon to question who he was speaking to and come to his senses.

Instead, Crowley's forehead went right back to the ground. "I'm sorry... God. Please, forgive me." That same dreaded position, and Crowley began frantically repeating his words again as well. 

Aziraphale reached out to try to lift Crowley's shoulders. The tense resistance of the demon’s frame was a wordless plea for Aziraphale to stop. Crowley thanked Aziraphale multiple times once he relented his pressure to encourage Crowley to rise. 

They were at the beginning once more. Aziraphale wanted to shout in frustration, but knew with no doubt in his mind that it would absolutely make things worse.  _ What _ had he said wrong? He took a deep breath, held it in, and released it in a quick burst. It was not as cathartic as shouting but it didn’t seem to make Crowley any worse, at least.

_ Perhaps fighting Crowley on his perception of reality might not be the best way to comfort or get through to him.  _

Aziraphale did not like the idea, but if it helped Crowley, it was worth trying. Still worried about upsetting the demon yet again, he took another measured, slow breath and asked cautiously, "A-am I your master, Crowley?"

"Yes, master." Crowley’s voice echoed the wariness and confusion that Aziraphale held in his own heart and knew he could not show.

The response had been unsure, but it had also been prompt. Aziraphale asked his next question with a bit more confidence in his voice. 

"And as your master, you'll do what I ask you to do?"

"Of - of course, master." The confusion in his voice remained, but this time it was tinged with a tone that seemed to imply the answer was so obvious that the question hadn't needed to be asked in the first place.

The path forward was becoming clear now. Aziraphale delivered his next words with the same confident tone he might use when telling a customer the bookshop was closing for the evening. "Then, I would like for you to sit upright, please." 

"Yes, master." 

Crowley sat upright immediately. His head remained tilted downward and his eyes stayed closed, but there wasn't an ounce of hesitation. The relief that Crowley had in his voice at interacting with Aziraphale as if he were Crowley’s master was instantly perceptible, a difference of night and day.

_Oh, my dear. Why is_ this _what gets through to you? Why can’t you just see me? Why can’t you just-_ _No! I cannot let this be a loss. He’s relaxed and responding without becoming distressed, that’s real progress. He’ll make it the rest of the way. Somehow..._

"Very good, Crowley. Thank you." Aziraphale tried to sound confident, but still calm. He didn’t want Crowley to believe Azirahale was upset for fear the demon would think he was at fault somehow. “Now, I am not going to hurt you, but could you please tell me why I  _ would _ hurt you, Crowley?”

The panic and fear that had previously gripped Crowley’s entire presence was replaced with a morose stillness. Crowley's hands shifted from wrapping around his body protectively to rest on his knees. He sat up a little straighter, his wings were a bit more spread out. Crowley’s eyes were lowered to the carpet. Occasionally they fluttered closed, but he no longer shut them tight. 

“For disobeying you, master.” 

His tone was resigned. Crowley tilted his head to the side in shame. His wings dipped a bit, fully displaying both a self-disappointment and a total belief in a lack of redeemability with his answer.

_ Disobeying? How? He’s done nothing but apologize. _

Aziraphale knew whoever 'master' really was would deliberately hurt Crowley for disobeying. He could imagine Heaven being willing to punish violent outbursts or even escape attempts, but for something as simple as disobedience? It seemed unnecessary. Especially since Crowley had been begging not to be harmed this whole time when he'd done nothing wrong that Aziraphale could think of.

Knowing this, the concept of Crowley calling him master was incredibly unsettling. Aziraphale tried to take comfort in the knowledge that it would only be done to heal his dear demon. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long for Crowley to see he wasn’t in Heaven any longer. __

In Heaven with  _ Gabriel,  _ who just so happened to be the only angel who knew  _ why _ Crowley was injured, and whose name was scarred into Crowley's lower back alongside the demon's name.

Interwoven together with the word for  _ slave _ .

Gabriel was not merely some demon-keeper assigned by Heaven.

_ Gabriel  _ was _ master, and now I'm pretending to be him to get through to Crowley. Oh dear lord... And it's been working, so I can't very well back down now. I - I don’t know if I can handle this. _

Aziraphale’s mind began to spiral. He stood up from the couch and was about to leave the back room in sheer panic. 

“I’m sorry,” Crowley hurriedly forced out as Aziraphale rose from his seat. The angel froze and looked down at the kneeling demon.

Every bit of relaxation had vanished from the demon’s posture. His wings were drawn back in defensively and his arms were crossed over himself to cover his stomach. Crowley’s chin was pressed to his chest and his back hunched over. He hadn’t sunk all the way back to the floor, but it was clear to Aziraphale that he was struggling to remain upright. 

“You don’t need a reason to hurt me, master. I’m sorry,” he pleaded softly as tears slid down his face.

Aziraphale sat back down. The reality of it was sickening.

_ Gabriel is an Archangel. He doesn’t need a  _ reason _ for  _ anything _ , but in the past he had at least had his righteousness guided by  _ some _ standards, even if they may have been  _ flawed _ at times.  _

He had no doubt that the hurried correction was something he should be alarmed about and keep in mind for later, but Aziraphale still needed to understand why Crowley looked so deeply resigned when he spoke of disobedience. 

“W-what was your last order, Crowley?” Aziraphale could hear Gabriel in his own voice, and he loathed himself for it.

_ “What was your last assignment, again, Aziraphale?” _

Crowley’s response was barely above a whisper, loud enough to be heard clearly, but not a decibel more than necessary. “Kneel here. Head down. Say I am sorry. Beg for mercy, master.”

_ Of course it was. That explains things. Oh, my dear, sweet Crowley. _

Aziraphale felt trapped and overwhelmed as he gazed upon the only being in the universe who’d ever been able to calm him from anything near the level of distress he now found himself in. Aziraphale dismayed at being so woefully inadequate to do the same for Crowley. The only thing that was working so far was pretending to be the very individual who had  _ made _ Crowley this way. Aziraphale believed he should be the one apologizing, but he couldn’t even do that for fear of breaking the only illusion that had relaxed Crowley thus far.

_ In all my years of working with Gabriel, he never apologized for anything, not genuinely, anyhow. _

Mostly to calm his own emotions, Aziraphale reached out and rested a hand in Crowley’s hair. He let his fingers move slightly through the familiar mess of red. It wasn’t anything Gabriel had ever done, but it wasn’t uncommon for the Archangel to reach out and grab Aziraphale’s shoulder firmly in reassurance. Crowley’s arms were littered with too many injuries; he hoped the contact wouldn’t hurt. It hadn’t seemed to add to the demon’s distress when Aziraphale had touched his hair before.

The thought drifted through his mind that the lack of negative reaction very likely meant Gabriel had touched Crowley this way. It almost made him pull his hand away, not wanting to be anything like the Archangel and suddenly fearing doing so. He abruptly shoved the notion away and refused to give it any more time in his head.

Crowley softened under the touch. He didn’t shift upright, but his muscles gradually relaxed. That was all that mattered. A silent tear slid down Aziraphale’s face as he continued to try his best to comfort Crowley while stilling the tumultuous unease in his own soul.

_ That’s it, dear. Just relax. Everything will be alright now.  _

They stayed that way for several minutes. Aziraphale cried silently and pet through fiery strands in silence until both of their tears had dried. Aziraphale wiped his own tears away, performing a minor miracle to clear any congestion that might have given away in his voice that he’d been crying. 

"You don't need to do that anymore, Crowley. You are done with that order. You did well."

Crowley's brows furrowed. Frustration flashed across his features, like he wanted to argue the praise the moment Aziraphale said it, but he only nodded silently in acknowledgement.

"I need you to listen carefully. Can you do that for me?"

Crowley nodded a second time.

"I'm going to heal you now. I’ll need you to tell me if there are any wounds I can't see. I need to remove the leather first. It's going to hurt, but I'm not upset with you. You aren't in trouble. Alright?"

Crowley appeared confused, but cautiously nodded once more after a moment of processing.

Aziraphale slipped from his spot on the couch to kneel beside Crowley. His hands trembled slightly as he reached toward one of the wounds where the leather hadn’t dug in quite as brutally. He gently traced a single finger around the entire loop. 

There was no break in the leather; the strips were miracled shut. Aziraphale would have to cut or miracle them open, or miracle them away entirely. Healing wounds took quite a bit of energy, especially if those injuries were on the wings. Aziraphale assessed the sheer number of leather strips and frowned. Around a dozen on each arm, not quite double that on Crowley’s legs, and what was left of Crowley’s plumage kept Aziraphale from accurately estimating how many were there. If he had to guess, he would say the number on Crowley’s wings was likely closer to that on his legs. Roughly one hundred altogether, enough that Aziraphale wasn’t certain he could miracle every strip away and have power left over to adequately heal the rest of Crowley’s injuries. 

He stroked Crowley’s hair reassuringly before rising to his feet. “I just need to get a few things. I will be right back.” 

Aziraphale swiftly ascended the stairs and retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom closet. He kept it for the occasional customer who might need assistance. It had only ever been used for its small supply of bandages, but Aziraphale knew it contained medical shears. The container was covered in dust, which he wiped away with a cloth made damp in the sink. He returned to Crowley’s side with the metal tin of supplies and several towels, including a fresh one that had been run under warm water.

He pulled a rubbish bin and a footstool over from his desk and settled down on the floor beside Crowley. The demon quickly glanced over at the pile of objects with a concerned expression before returning his gaze to the floor. Aziraphale couldn’t help a bittersweet smile that tugged at his lips at the sight. Crowley always had been ever so curious. To see the demon suppressing his desire to look and learn was saddening, but the fact that he had risked the look at all showed promise that his Crowley was still in there... somewhere. 

“You can look as much as you like, but you don’t have to. As I said before, this will hurt. It’s fine to look away if you need to. Just try to stay still, alright?” Aziraphale placed a towel over the footstool and carefully reached forward to procure Crowley’s hand as he spoke. 

Crowley flinched as his arm was positioned across the furniture in front of him. He cautiously glanced at his outstretched arm before nodding and looking away. Aziraphale gave Crowley’s hand a gentle squeeze and a pat, then took a breath to steady himself.

He started by just cutting each leather strip open so he could focus solely on removal afterwards. Medical shears alone weren’t enough for some of them; Aziraphale had to use forceps in one hand and shears in the other to be able to reach with the scissors without causing more damage he’d have to heal. The strips were deeply embedded, and more than a few would likely reveal bone once removed. Crowley was slender, so the strips didn’t have to dig in very far in some places to accomplish that.

Crowley was remarkably calm while Aziraphale cut away at the bindings. He could see Crowley’s eyes flutter open and look over warily as he worked. The demon never looked up at Aziraphale directly and seemed to be trying to hide the fact that he was watching at all. Conflict was written clearly across his scrunched brows. Aziraphale tried his best to pay it no mind and focus on what he was doing. He debated praising Crowley, but decided against it. He had already encouraged Crowley to look, and didn’t want to cause the demon to shut down or stop engaging by calling attention to his actions. Aziraphale feared doing so might make Crowley believe the angel was watching him, and while that was true, Aziraphale did not want it to lead to paranoia.

Once all the strips had been severed, Aziraphale carefully pulled the leather away and tossed it into the bin. He had to move quickly in removing the strips as many of Crowley’s wounds began bleeding once exposed. Aziraphale deeply wished he could heal each wound individually, but summoning up the power of healing that many times was sure to leave him drained. The best he could do was wrap Crowley’s arm in the towel as he worked his way up the demon’s arm. 

Crowley winced and squirmed in place, but kept his arm still over the footrest. He never pulled away, visibly restraining himself to keep as still as possible despite the obvious pain. 

“Th-thank you.” Crowley breathed out a gasp once the last strip on his arm was finally gone.

Aziraphale removed the towel, took hold of Crowley’s hand in one of his own, then hovered the other over the full length of the demon’s arm. It took two passes, but the gashes healed entirely under the motion.

Crowley let out a short sob before biting his own lip to silence himself. “Thank you, master.”

“No need to thank me. You are being  _ very _ brave and doing wonderfully.” 

Aziraphale shifted to Crowley’s other side and encouraged the demon to switch arms by patting the stool and gesturing to the other limb. He was pleased to see Crowley offer up the other arm almost eagerly, his eyes wide and vulnerable as he placed it on the towel. Crowley was the most relaxed Aziraphale had seen him, but from his spot on the ground next to the demon, Aziraphale was able to notice an ongoing tension throughout his form that had yet to fade. He was hopeful that removing the rest of the leather would solve that. 

“One down. Five to go, hm?” Aziraphale asked with as casual of a tone as he could manage.

Crowley responded with a few nods of his head - a definite improvement from the hesitant single ones from before.

By the time the process had been repeated for the other arm, the two strips around his neck, and both of Crowley’s wings, they had soaked through one towel completely and were well on their way to discarding the second. With each limb healed, Crowley seemed to trust Aziraphale more, and his mood improved. His curiosity had plateaued and his concern vanished after Aziraphale finished the first wing. 

Aziraphale requested Crowley stand on a towel in order to handle the leather encircling the demon’s legs. He stood quickly, visibly impatient to be completely free of the painful strips that remained. Aziraphale looked Crowley over carefully; this was the first time Crowley had been on his feet rather than kneeling or hunched over defensively. There was some injury and bruising on his buttocks that had been hidden by his heels. Another especially disturbing pair of bruises had been hidden by the bend of his thigh - bruising that resembled fingers. There was a mirrored single bruise on each side that Aziraphale now could easily recognize as where thumbs had dug in.

There was only one reason handprints would be there. 

His own hands had gripped Crowley there before, but never hard enough to leave such brutal marks. Aziraphale hadn’t fully understood why Crowley had been naked when he had first seen the demon kneeling in Heaven. He knew now, and fought back tears that welled in his eyes.

Aziraphale was a storm of turbulent emotions. Rage towards Gabriel. Confusion and fury toward the Almighty. Total helplessness in the face of the severity of the entire situation. The desire to document and research rose yet again.

He looked up at Crowley’s face to see the demon’s eyes were shut. Aziraphale used the opportunity to silently miracle his notebook back to within his open hand and hastily add a few more images to the pages within it before miraculously returning it to his desk.

He turned his attention back to where he knew it was most needed right now.

Aziraphale hadn’t really been able to see Crowley’s face clearly until this moment, as he’d been above Crowley much of the time and the demon’s hair had been hiding his expressions. Now though, from below Crowley, he could see just how exhausted the demon looked. 

_ Darkness around his eyes... his face is thinner. He probably hasn’t slept since the morning he disappeared.  _

Aziraphale thought back to that day and felt guilt stain his memories. Crowley had wanted to sleep in. It would have been too dangerous for him to stay, but Aziraphale still wished he could have known. He still wished he could have prevented what happened some way, any way at all. 

Crowley swayed above Aziraphale, pulling the angel out of his thoughts. His legs trembled slightly. Aziraphale had attributed it to fear initially, but he was growing concerned that Crowley might fall over if forced to stand for too long. He stood up and took both of Crowley’s hands in his own before he led the demon just a few paces over to the sofa. 

Aziraphale spread out a towel on the seat before guiding Crowley by the shoulders and gently urging him to sit. “Crowley, I think it’s best if you sit down. Will you, please?”

The demon kept his eyes closed while he nodded and obediently followed Aziraphale’s lead. Aziraphale shifted his tools over to the sofa and began the process once more. He was not yet halfway up Crowley’s left leg when he heard a soft snore above him. Crowley had passed out from sheer exhaustion. Aziraphale took several moments to watch his demon sleep; even while unconscious there was still a tension to his body. Not even sleep allowed him to fully relax anymore. The thought was deeply concerning. Aziraphale pressed on to remove the leather, still hopeful that pain was the root cause.

He finished trimming apart all the leather on Crowley’s left leg, and Crowley did not stir from his slumber. He continued to breathe heavily on occasion, and he stayed slumped on the sofa, entirely still, minus a few muscle twitches as he dreamed. The angel settled on cutting the leather on the right leg rather than removing and healing Crowley’s left. He had hoped to heal both legs at once instead of working one at a time; Crowley was more likely to sleep through Aziraphale severing more loops than pulling them off the leg he’d finished.

Eventually the only task remaining was to remove the leather. Aziraphale did his best to work slowly enough that the demon could continue to sleep, but one of the strips pained Crowley enough to startle him awake. He wailed and kicked out in reflex, knocking Aziraphale right in the collarbone. 

Aziraphale was shocked at the pain shooting through his shoulder initially, but Crowley’s reaction quickly distracted the angel from his own discomfort.

The impact of Crowley’s foot against Aziraphale’s body made the demon cry out a second time in anguish, as if he had been the one struck. Crowley flailed miserably on the couch for a couple seconds before throwing himself to the floor and kneeling, predictably, right back on the floor with his forehead pressed into the carpet.

“I’m sorry, master!” Crowley’s words were strained, whether by fear or pain or both, Aziraphale could not tell.

"It's alright, Crowley. I was merely surprised.” Aziraphale reached a hand out to touch Crowley’s head and the demon flinched as if the touch burned. “I can't heal you when you are curled up. I need you to stand up, please."

Crowley did not rise. His whole body shook as he choked out his reply through a fresh wave of tears. "Please leave me, master. I don't deserve to be healed."

"I'm not going to leave you bleeding on my floor, Crowley. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I'm fine.” Aziraphale couldn’t keep his tone from becoming indignant, clipped due to the slight throb of his shoulder. He caught the harshness of his own words and softened them into something more gentle, although it ended up sounding impatiently desperate to his own ears. “Please stand up so I can finish healing you."

Still shivering in fear and unsteady on his legs, Crowley obeyed after only a few moments of hesitation. Aziraphale wasted no time in peeling away the remaining strips. Crowley’s legs trembled and swayed even more than when he had stood upright the first time, but Aziraphale knew attempting to urge Crowley to the sofa yet again while so distressed would be a losing battle. Instead, Aziraphale worked as quickly as he could so Crowley would be able to return to the floor.

Aziraphale finished removing the last few strips and focused on healing Crowley, being sure to miracle away the awful bruises and any internal damage in the process. Apart from the rings in his wings, which he wasn’t sure about removing without Heaven’s approval, and the scar on his lower back, which would take a bit more of his focused attention to remove, Crowley appeared healed. 

“T-thank you, master.”

"Alright. You may sit down."

Crowley collapsed back into the upright kneel. His knees hit the carpet with enough force to make Aziraphale flinch on his behalf, despite the demon showing no reaction of his own to the impact. His breathing was deep, yet halting.

Aziraphale moved around to Crowley's back and placed his hand on the mark - the only place left to heal now. Crowley flinched and tensed up under his touch.

"I'm going to heal this now, Crowley."

"No! I'm ssorry, master! I'm ssorry. Please don't!" Crowley shook his head and begged, his words burst forth full of desperate, uncontrolled hisses. "You can't heal that. It'ss your mark."

_ No. It's Gabriel's mark.  _

“C-Crowley, please calm down. It’s alright.”

Aziraphale hadn’t expected Crowley to resist being healed, especially not in such a fervered manner. He pulled his hand away and moved to stand in front of the demon. 

Crowley continued, unhearing and growing more agitated as he went on. "Master, please! How will I be yours without your mark? Please let me belong to you, master. I want to be yours, master."

_ Wants to be his? How can he-? I don't-? Oh Crowley... _

Aziraphale was too stunned to say anything. He was caught in his own thoughts, reeling at the words he was hearing from Crowley. 

"Please don't cast me away. I need to be yours. If you don't own me, who will-" 

" _ Enough! _ " Aziraphale shouted, halting Crowley's crazed downpour of words. 

A heavy silence settled over the room. Crowley, who had been animatedly overwrought moments ago, went as still as stone. Aziraphale found himself breathing heavily as Crowley’s distress had amplified his own. He took a deep breath and exhaled, relenting. 

"I won't heal it. I'll leave the mark, Crowley. You can keep it."

"Thank you, master. Thank you." His voice was all gratitude and relief.

_ We can come back to that one, I suppose. _

Aziraphale didn’t like the mark, but if having it removed was going to prompt such a reaction, it might be better to work on helping Crowley see reality first, and healing the mark later.

"How do you feel? Does it feel like I missed healing any wounds?"

Crowley frowned and looked confused. "I - I don't know, master." 

How could Crowley not know? Any remaining wounds should be obvious now that the larger ones were gone. "Are you in pain?"

"Y-Yes." 

Aziraphale noticed Crowley seemed more tense. He bit through his words as if in a great deal of pain. His trembling was worse than ever, even though there was no immediate panic causing it.

"Can you tell me what hurts?"

There was a long pause before Crowley finally responded in a meek, apologetic tone. "Everything."

"Everything?" Aziraphale couldn’t help dumbly repeating Crowley’s own nonsensical response. Why would  _ everything _ be hurting when he’d just been healed?

"Yes, master." Crowley sounded on the edge of tears.

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley used to be so forthcoming with his thoughts. Aziraphale used to become annoyed at Crowley’s out of the blue, sarcastic complaints about minor annoyances, and now he found himself very much wanting that Crowley to return. The angel felt frustrated at having to ask so many questions. "Do you know  _ why _ everything is hurting, Crowley?"

"Yes."

_ Of course that would be the response. _

"Can you  _ tell me _ why?"

"Th-the collar, master." Crowley tilted his head back slowly, keeping his eyes closed, to display the collar. It read 08. It had definitely displayed 05 earlier. Why had the number increased?  _ When _ had the number increased? 

Aziraphale's eyes widened. He hadn't considered that the collar would have been  _ hurting _ Crowley this whole time, or at all. He assumed it simply blocked Crowley’s ability to teleport, shift forms, or cast miracles. Michael didn’t even bother  _ mentioning _ the collar was causing Crowley pain when she had brought it up.

_ But she  _ did _ tell you to read before dispelling the sensory block. Oh, Aziraphale, you bloody idiot. _

Aziraphale reached out and turned the collar dial, careful to not adjust it too much at once. There was some resistance to the dial before it slipped into place at the next setting. Crowley let out a whine as the numbers on the screen shifted to display 09.

“Pleasse, master. I’m sorry!” He tensed more, and Aziraphale fumbled with the dial to undo his mistake. Knowing that the dial clicked into pre-set notches, Aziraphale put far more force into his adjustment of the settings the second time. He quickly turned the dial the opposite direction until it read 01. It flickered 01 over again when he attempted to turn the dial again, seeming to indicate the number was the lowest setting.

Crowley sighed in relief. A few tears streaked down his face, whether in relief at the collar being turned down, or pain from the mistake of turning the device up, Aziraphale was unsure.

“Is that better?” 

Aziraphale stroked through Crowley’s hair. He so dearly wanted to hug Crowley, to pull the demon into his arms and comfort him. He was grateful Crowley accepted at least this much touch without any added distress.

Crowley nodded. “Thank you, master.”

Crowley finally looked fully relaxed. The tension Aziraphale had been noticing this whole time must have been the collar. Aziraphale tried to push down the guilt that caused him to feel; there was no way he could have known. He hadn’t had the slightest thought about what the number on the display had meant. He hadn’t thought about it since kneeling before Crowley in Heaven. It could have represented any number of things. 

“Are you in any pain now, Crowley?”

“No, master.”

“Alright. Then I think it’s time for you to go to bed. Come on, let’s go upstairs.” Aziraphale knew Crowley needed more sleep than his interrupted nap on the couch. He hoped Crowley might come to his senses once he had been allowed to rest properly, and Aziraphale needed time to read through the collar manual to see if there might be a way to remove it without Michael noticing. She had mentioned him not having authorization for that, but maybe the manual knew of a workaround.

Crowley followed Aziraphale upstairs and Aziraphale pointed at the bed. Crowley hesitated for a moment before he obeyed and crawled under the sheets. Once settled, Crowley sat with a lost, confused expression painted over his features. He glanced at Aziraphale a few times with a look of concern, and appeared to try to focus his eyes on his own feet under the covers.

Eyelids fluttered closed several times, and each time he jolted awake with a start. Crowley would shake his head slightly, a look of confused fear within his gaze.

At first, Aziraphale thought Crowley may be having trouble relaxing, perhaps having nightmares. Looming near the bed probably wasn't helping. He sat down in his reading chair in the corner of the room instead, and pretended to read the book he'd set aside so long ago before Crowley had gone missing that he'd forgotten what book it even  _ was _ , let alone what was happening in it.

It became clear soon after that, that Crowley wasn't waking up on accident. Crowley was shaking  _ himself _ awake whenever he felt his eyes begin to drift closed. The demon cast worried looks in Aziraphale's direction every time he woke himself up.

He wished he knew  _ why _ Crowley felt he couldn't sleep, but he didn't want to wake Crowley up further by asking him. Aziraphale thought for a moment, watching Crowley resist sleep until an idea formed.

He rose from his seat, retrieved a few blankets from the closet, and spread them over Crowley. He returned to his chair, then snapped to heat the blankets. Heated sheets always had lulled the demon to sleep in the past, and it worked without fail now as well. Crowley did flinch at the sound of his fingers clicking together, but Aziraphale heard Crowley hum contentedly at the warmth. 

Crowley's head lolled to the side as his eyes closed. He still startled awake, but he didn't look over at Aziraphale. The fear that had been present when waking up before was no longer visible. He began to slump down into the pillows and shifted under the warmth with an almost imperceptible upward curve to his lips, the smallest expression of comfort.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley swiftly lost the fight against exhaustion, and sleep claimed him within minutes. Once satisfied that Crowley would be out for a while, Aziraphale left the door open to be able to hear if the demon was stirring, then headed downstairs to research the collar manual.

* * *

Crowley felt warm in his bed. His bed - he had missed it so much. It had felt like forever since Gabriel had allowed him back into his room. He stretched his limbs and wings, blissfully pain free barring the rings in his joints, then curled back up within the covers. He wasn’t ready to wake up. He could go back to sleep if he just kept his eyes closed and focused on the heat of the soft blankets against his skin. They were fluffier than he remembered them being, and reminded him of the blankets on Aziraphale’s bed.

He had dreamt of Aziraphale. He couldn’t remember what had happened in the dream but he did know it was a good dream. Crowley desperately wanted to go back to it. He shifted under the covers and pulled them up near his face.

“You’re awake.” 

Gabriel’s voice sounded warm, like Aziraphale’s. It happened sometimes, when Crowley was first waking up after dreaming of his angel. Voices blended together as Crowley's wishes blended with reality. He tried to stay still and keep his breathing even. If Gabriel thought he was still asleep, maybe Crowley could return to it after Gabriel left. 

A weight shifted onto the bed behind him and a warm hand pressed on the scar on his lower back. Crowley felt himself stiffen impulsively under the touch; his resolve to stay still began to crumble.

“I could remove this for you when you decide to get up, if you’d like.” It was spoken so softly, almost eagerly. 

It was a threat, without a doubt. He had stayed in bed when he should not have. Crowley’s stomach twisted with horror and he leapt from the bed as quickly as he could manage it. 

“I’m awake. I am sorry, master. Please don’t remove your mark. I will be good. I promise.” 

He resisted the urge to press his head to the floor. Gabriel had wanted him to kneel upright yesterday, so that was exactly how he posed himself. He kept his head down, eyes closed, hands resting on his thighs and wings drawn in to minimize the space he occupied.

"Crowley..." Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through Crowley’s hair slowly. His voice sounded disappointed.

_ He should be disappointed in you. You know you should get out of bed immediately when anyone enters the room. Instead you selfishly tried to go back to sleep. He never should have let you sleep in that bed again. _

Crowley wanted to pull away from the gentle touch; he knew he didn’t deserve it. He stayed still. That was not his decision to make - pulling away wasn't allowed. “I’m sorry. Please let me stay yours, master.”

"It's not mine. I didn't put this here, Crowley." The words were choked off, like crying.

_ Yes you did, master,  _ Crowley wanted to say, but knew better than to attempt to lock horns with his master. 

_ Why does it sound like he’s crying? Gabriel doesn’t cry. _

Crowley blinked and lifted his head slightly, scanning the room with a fearful, hurried gaze. It looked like the bedroom at Aziraphale’s home - cozy, full of trinkets and books and love.

Gabriel would have no idea what that looked like. This was no illusion.

Could he be dreaming? This had to be a dream. It would explain why he was barely in any pain. It didn’t explain Gabriel crying, but not everything in dreams made sense.

“I can’t do this, my dear. I am not your master.” His voice sounded like Azriaphale’s again.

Crowley looked up. It was not Gabriel sitting above him.

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as Crowley spoke his name. The Aziraphale in his dreams never seemed to hear him. This one did.

“Crowley?”

Crowley was terrified to believe this was anything other than a fantasy. Gabriel would be back any minute now. His hope would be torn apart yet again. That’s how this always went, but this Aziraphale looked at him. The Aziraphale in his dreams was always just out of reach.

He could feel his heart threatening to burst from his chest, thundering with trepidation and hope as Crowley raised a hand toward Aziraphale. 

If this was a dream, Aziraphale would go on not seeing him. His calling Crowley’s name was merely a cruel coincidence of his mind. If this was an illusion or hallucination, Gabriel would strike Crowley down and put him back where he belonged.

Aziraphale shifted from the bed to kneel in front of Crowley. Tears were streaming down his face as he gave Crowley a sad smile. He looked as terrified to hope as Crowley felt. He grasped Crowley’s hand in both of his own. Warm, and alive.

And real.

“Aziraphale?” 

Crowley could barely repeat the name, choked on tears and frightened this would all be over if he breathed wrong, moved wrong, blinked at all. The tears clouded his vision but he could not close his eyes for fear of it all vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

“Yes, my love. It’s me.” Aziraphale’s voice was even warmer than his hands. Crowley wanted to curl up against his angel, to be enveloped by his incandescence. “You are here, in the bookshop. You aren’t in Heaven anymore.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale tug on his hand and melted forward, allowing himself to fall into Aziraphale’s embrace.

“This can’t be real. You can’t be real.” 

He  _ smelled _ just like Aziraphale, that slight musty bookshop scent, combined with the bittersweet aroma of tea leaves was unmistakably his angel. Crowley sobbed into Aziraphale’s shoulder for a moment until he tensed and pushed the angel away. He needed to  _ see _ Aziraphale.

“I'm real, Crowley.” Aziraphale kept hold of his hand even as Crowley wiggled back onto his knees, out of Aziraphale’s arms. 

It was really Aziraphale. Soft, kind blue eyes looking at him with more love than he’d seen or felt in ages. Gabriel would never have been able to fake the genuine warmth or concern Crowley saw in the gaze before him.

Aziraphale's soft curves were covered by his usual ridiculously old clothing - the vest material worn through from years of use, too detailed for a dream. His hands were warm against Crowley’s, the pinky ring yet another detail he felt so clearly against his own skin that a dream could not have replicated.

Crowley couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and feeling. How many times had he dreamt of Aziraphale? How many times had he thought of Aziraphale? He had lost count. It felt like ages, and seeing him in front of him felt too good to be true. 

“It’s really you. I am really here. You aren’t- This isn’t-”

They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, saying nothing and just taking each other in. So much time, love, laughter and memories flooded Crowley. He could see it in Aziraphale's expression too. The angel looked immensely relieved, and there was a sense of wonder there was well as Crowley finally looked at him with clarity he hadn't felt in  _ so long. _

Aziraphale was beaming through tears welling in his eyes. “Oh, Crowley, I was so worried you would never know it was me again. I don’t know how much longer I could pretend to be-” He trailed off, looking upset.

“Gabriel.” Crowley looked away, ashamed. He suddenly felt very naked, exposed, vulnerable. Things he had never felt in front of Aziraphale before now. 

Then panic set in again. Words poured from him. “Where is he now? How did you find me? How did you get him to let me go? This must be a trap, right?” Crowley could not contain the second wave of tears that overwhelmed him, born of guilt rather than incredulous joy. “I can’t be here with you, Aziraphale. You have to send me back! You aren’t safe with me. When I was up there, at least you were safe!” 

Aziraphale only frowned at him, Crowley tried to wipe the tears from his face and compose himself. He had no idea what to do or say to change the angel's expression. “I’m so sorry, Angel. I tried, I did.”

“Dear,” Aziraphale urged Crowley toward him yet again, “come to bed? Sit with me and we can talk?”

He allowed himself to be pulled up onto the bed. Crowley sat in front of Aziraphale, who leaned against the pillows propped up on the headboard. Aziraphale patted the bed next to him invitingly.

“Put your wings away, my love?” Aziraphale suggested, as if it should have been obvious and done long ago.

Crowley looked away, ashamed yet again. “I-I can’t. The collar. It-”

Aziraphale said nothing.

_ You can’t do anything right. He gives you the simplest order and you can’t follow it. Useless… _

“I-I’m sorry. I can sit over here instead, or on the floor where my wings aren’t in the way.” Crowley shifted away on the bed to move to the floor and found himself unable to when Aziraphale grabbed his hand.

“No, dear. I didn’t say that.” Aziraphale didn’t sound upset with him, only sad. “Come here, please? Get comfortable. However you like.”

Crowley reluctantly settled in next to Aziraphale, curled mostly around the angel’s legs and savoring his warmth under the blankets. He rested his head on Aziraphale’s stomach. The angel pet Crowley’s hair soothingly, the action slowly calming the panic that had risen abruptly at the mention of the Archangel, and his inability to follow Aziraphale’s orders.

He didn’t feel deserving of kindness or understanding. He hadn’t obeyed. 

“Good, that’s much better.” The angel shifted one last time to get comfortable, or perhaps, if Crowley knew Aziraphale, to delay speaking just a tad longer. “I must apologize about your collar, dear. I’m afraid the manual isn’t very helpful unless you ask very specific questions. I had no idea it was harming you yesterday, and I didn’t know it could force you to keep your wings out. I spent some time asking it about each setting while you slept and didn’t find it very illuminating.”

Crowley stayed quiet and nodded.

Aziraphale soon filled Crowley in on everything that had happened. 

Gabriel was missing. Michael had given Crowley to Aziraphale since he had been on Earth with Crowley all this time. There may have still been a trap to reveal their relationship, but it felt less important in comparison to whatever was happening with Gabriel.

Crowley was able to distantly recall the angels asking him about Gabriel. At the time, he had thought it was a test set up by the Archangel.

_ He couldn’t be gone. This has to be some kind of trap, right? _

They sat in silence for a long while. It was Aziraphale who finally broke it.

“My dear, may I please heal that dreadful scar for you?” He looked down at Crowley with sorrowful, pleading eyes. The angel accompanied the look with a soft touch to the mark on his back.

Crowley shifted away from Aziraphale to the far edge of the bed as quickly as he was able to. “You- you can’t.” 

“Why not, dear?” Aziraphale gave Crowley a concerned look and reached out toward him. 

Crowley carefully placed his hand in Aziraphale's grasp. He stared down at their hands touching, and had flickers of an image of them on a park bench with their fingers barely touching. Memories flooded his mind: pain, violet eyes, grabbing hands, searing flesh. He looked up at Aziraphale, voice hollow and cold. 

“When he returns-”

“You will  _ not _ be returning to his care.” Aziraphale’s determination was clear in his voice, his posture. 

Crowley wanted to trust it. He wanted to hide behind his angel and believe he’d be okay, but these were Archangels they were up against. If they believed that Gabriel should own him, Gabriel would own him. If they believed Crowley should be marked, then Crowley would be marked. When Gabriel returned, he was not going to be happy that Crowley had  _ moved _ , let alone been given to  _ Aziraphale _ of all angels. 

He was going to be  _ furious. _

“Angel, I can’t go through having it put back. Please, just leave it. It’s not hurting me right now. It’s fine."

Aziraphale was not swayed. “There’s no justification for them to allow this, Crowley! It’s personal and barbaric! I personally cannot believe Gabriel had Heaven's... permission for such an act of cruelty.” 

Righteous. Aziraphale's tone was righteous outrage. The angel was furious with Gabriel, maybe even upset with Heaven. He seemed frustrated at Crowley’s reluctance to be healed, which only made him feel more guilty for refusing the offer.

Crowley had never seen Aziraphale worked up about anything quite like this before. He might have found it endearing if not for the terror blooming within him. He feared what would happen if Heaven or Gabriel found out how Aziraphale really felt.

_ Or he’ll fall. His righteous fury against his own kind, because of you, will make him fall once and for all. Maybe they already know everything. Maybe they just want him to fall, then they can destroy us both. _

_ Gabriel wouldn't do that though. Gabriel would destroy  _ him  _ while you're forced to watch, and then enjoy using what's left of you for an eternity. _

The angel's words quickly shifted to pleading once more. "Please, Crowley. There's no need for you to keep that mark. You don't belong to him, like - like some...  _ thing.  _ You can't- You-"

Aziraphale snapped his jaw shut, leaving the sentence unfinished. 

_ I can't what? Belong to Gabriel? Keep you from healing me? 'You', what, Angel? 'You belong to me, not him'? 'You', what? _

Crowley wondered how much Aziraphale had figured out from healing his wounds. He wondered if his injuries had shown Aziraphale the extent to which Gabriel owned him. Aziraphale had seen no reason to wait for Crowley's permission to heal  _ those  _ from his body _ ,  _ so what was stopping the angel now? Panic tightened in his chest, fearing Aziraphale might heal the mark even without his permission. 

“Please leave it alone, Angel. Miracle me some clothing? I’ll keep it covered so you don’t have to look at it. It’ll be fine.” Crowley looked over at his wings, aching from the rings shoved through his joints. “If you have to heal something, heal something that  _ actually hurts _ , Angel. These rings are terrible.”

He flinched at his own words.

_ Who are you to ask for things like that? You know you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve clothes. You don’t deserve healing. _

Aziraphale looked crestfallen at the suggestion. “I-I don’t think they’ll let me keep you if I do that.”

“K-keep me?” Crowley did  _ not _ like the sound of that.

Aziraphale nodded hesitantly. “The rings have function, I'm afraid. Removing them without permission could ruin my chances to convince them I should keep you.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his own hands and looked away at having to say it.

Crowley was confused. Aziraphale had said before that Michael gave him to Aziraphale. He had said Crowley wouldn’t be returning to Gabriel. Of course, the Archangels had more power than Aziraphale, so it was something neither of them ultimately had much say in, but Aziraphale had seemed so convinced, moments ago. 

“I-I thought you just said I wouldn’t-”

“I haven’t exactly… convinced them yet. Michael agreed to let me take you away, but  _ her _ version of events had me fixing you  _ in Heaven _ . I had to fluster her quite significantly to convince her otherwise, and even as we were sent back to the shop she insisted I bring you back as soon as possible.”

Crowley felt like he’d been punched in the gut. 

“You mean I have to-? Aziraphale I can’t go back there.” He felt betrayed, devastated by the very idea. “You saw what they did to me! I-I can’t.” He hid his face in his hand and pressed on his eyes, trying to keep himself from falling apart again.

He felt Aziraphale shift on the bed and wrap an arm around him. “We don’t have to go back right away. I can send some fake reports for a few days to buy us time.” 

Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s hand and pulled it away, replacing it with his own and holding Crowley’s face so tenderly it broke Crowley’s heart to think about going back, and leaving his angel behind again. 

If Michael refused to allow him to stay, what could Aziraphale do? Or worse. What if Gabriel was there when they returned?

“Crowley, I promise you. You will  _ not _ be returning to Gabriel.” Aziraphale’s voice was full of determination yet again. “They came to  _ me _ to get you to speak. Clearly whatever Gabriel has done to you, you didn’t do as he asked, correct?”

Aziraphale had no idea how far reaching and convoluted that question truly was. It would take more time and effort than they had for Crowley to even begin to scratch the surface of the answer.

“I-” Crowley did not know what to say. He had done quite a lot of what Gabriel had asked. The only thing he ever refused to do was tell Gabriel the truth about them, but Crowley knew the Archangel had known it all along.

_ You've never been able to hide anything from Gabriel. Aziraphale should just throw you back to Heaven; he'd be able to return to his routines much more quickly if he did. _

His angel continued on, entirely unaware of the spiral of thought his question had provoked within Crowley. He had to shove the thoughts down to focus on what Aziraphale was saying. 

“-a trade, dear. Your cooperation. I’ll promise them no such brutality is required as long as I am negotiating with you. Alright? They won’t have any reason to harm you again, Crowley. I won’t let them.”

Aziraphale continued to practically beg Crowley. His angel was still desperate to remove the mark. “I wouldn’t ever do anything that I believed would harm you, Crowley. As long as you are with me, you are safe. Please? Let me heal it?”

As many times as Aziraphale had already asked, Crowley knew he was determined - and once Aziraphale set his mind to something, he nearly always got what he wanted. Crowley had never had much resistance when it came to Aziraphale, and his angel was more stubborn than anyone else he'd ever met. 

_ Except Gabriel. _

Gabriel got whatever  _ he  _ wanted, too.

Crowley's mind warred with itself. Master or Aziraphale?

The answer was clear. There was only ever one answer for Crowley.

Aziraphale. Now and forever, it was always Aziraphale.

Eventually, Crowley sighed and nodded. Who was he to say no? He opened his eyes and saw the utter delight on his Angel’s face and he almost felt okay relenting. Aziraphale's healing warmth settled over his lower back as the angel held him close, and for those few brief moments Crowley felt safe from harm, protected, and loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I really appreciate all the comments and feedback so much!
> 
> Chapter 5 will arrive on November 18th!
> 
> It has been a long few months, but I feel fairly confident that I'll be able to post every other Wednesday through the end of January. There's one February chapter that may delay us, but I'm working hard not to let that happen, and I've got a few chapters after that one mostly done, so finishing that one chapter will pave the way for Invalidations through March/April. 
> 
> I'd also like to announce something new and (hopefully) exciting to all Repoverse fans! We are calling it [The Repossessed](https://discord.gg/nHNHAyyqBy). This is a Discord server for all of us Repoverse (and Descent Into Perdition!) fans out there to collect, share fic recommendations, chat and hang out! 
> 
> If you are a fan of these long, dark Good Omens works, we are very much hoping you'll join us in creating a little community! If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me on Discord. (Or via any of the contact methods listed on my profile) I'm Latromi #9997.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you for all the wonderful support and comments on chapter 4!
> 
> It's November 18th! I hope you are all ready for chapter 5!
> 
> Along with [DreamsofSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsofSpike), I'd like to thank [Dacelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin) for support, beta work, and feedback!
> 
> Special shoutout to The Repossessed Discord server! Y'all are lovely and make running a server a complete joy!
> 
> Aren't part of The Repossessed Discord server? Consider joining us! More info at the end of the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no major content warnings for this chapter.

“Well done, Gabriel. I expect updateszz.” The door swung shut behind Beelzebub, leaving Gabriel to himself. 

A flutter of wings behind Gabriel’s desk reminded him that wasn’t entirely the case. He swivelled his chair around and walked over to the perch. On it was an eagle, about two feet tall with mostly grey and white feathers and a steely violet gaze. Its beak faded from grey to black, and was curved down at the tip, much like its solid black talons. 

The ashen feathers of its head appeared disheveled at the back, giving the eagle a fierce, intimidating profile. To add to the wild, untamed look, the pure white body feathers were decorated in grey horizontal stripes emerging from under the wings and not quite meeting up in the middle. 

It looked as if the eagle had once been entirely pure white, and was now cloaked in ash. As if it had bent its head downward to protect whatever it could from being stained by soot and smoke. Perfect snowy plumage still remained at the underside of its eyes, around the beak, down the raptor’s throat, and between the stripes of its body. 

Gabriel held out an arm to the bird, allowing it to join him. Talons that should have shredded his suit and his flesh miraculously caused no damage at all.

The familiar _was_ him, technically, so in some sense, Gabriel _was_ still alone, and also the reason the bird of prey was incapable of causing him harm.

He turned and snapped his fingers, revealing a mirror on the adjacent wall. His familiar stood out as a lighter grey and white in contrast to the darker greys of his attire. Hell didn’t dress in many light colors, and, although he would never stoop to wearing some of the disastrous ensembles he'd seen other demons wearing, Gabriel still preferred his color scheme to reflect his environment. As a result, his wardrobe had shifted to darker colors than it once had been. 

The eagle mark on his neck was no longer visible. Gabriel could hide or reveal it at will, now that he had earned his familiar along with his latest rise in rank. It wasn't common for higher ranking demons to show their marks; they didn't want to be associated with those below them on the pecking order.

It had taken months of work and dozens of assignments. Beelzebub had been extremely impressed with just how swiftly Gabriel had advanced through the ranks.

All of Hell was eager to see what he would do, what he would achieve. To them, it seemed that he completed his work with impossible punctuality, often getting tasks done days or even weeks sooner than anyone else in Hell had ever accomplished. Anyone not impressed was either envious or jealous.

Of course, the majority of Hell would never know just how long it had _really_ taken. He had only remained a Baron for a few days after he fell - the rank merely serving to not upset too much of Hell by placing Gabriel too high at the start. Once he had passed the basic mandatory miracles tests, Beelzebub had made him a Count. The moment Gabriel had risen from Count to Marquis, he had access to adequate levels of power - enough to stop time for entire assignments. 

After that, earning the next rank of Duke had been merely a matter of time. Still, Beelzebub had claimed Lucifer wanted Gabriel here in Hell for a bit longer.

Until today. 

Gabriel had finally been given the freedom to take whatever measures he believed would result in achieving his latest goal.

Gabriel stroked through the feathers on his familiar’s neck, arranging them to display just a little bit more white before glancing once more in the mirror. He tapped on his neck to reveal his mark.

He’d be needing it soon.

He moved to his desk and sat down, allowing his familiar to perch on a raised bar on the left side of it. The bar was a new addition, but this desk was not the one he’d fixed up on his first day in Hell. 

Gabriel ran his hand across the polished surface of the wood. This was _his_ desk. The very one he had used in Heaven.

Gabriel hadn’t been sure he’d be able to miracle _anything_ from Heaven at first. He had started with a small sculpture that sat on his office shelf. When that attempt was successful, he tried some classified files from the Archangel restricted archives. Gabriel was not at all surprised to find himself unable to perform such a miracle. It hadn't been possible for him to obtain those files via miracle as an Archangel, either. It seemed anything locked away in Heaven was inaccessible by miracle. 

Gabriel had shifted his entire desk into Hell and was pleasantly surprised to see that everything still _inside_ the desk had joined it. It had mostly been cleared out. 

Heaven must have been quite worked up over his disappearance.

Heaven didn’t create this desk, though; Gabriel did. Everything that mattered was still exactly as he had left it, and he kept those things now as he did then.

Gabriel opened the main drawer in front. He reached far inside, to the very back and flipped a lever; the thin layer in the bottom of the drawer swung upwards - a false bottom revealing a secret compartment. Gabriel pulled out an immaculate white laptop and pressed gently on the trick lid within the drawer to conceal it with a satisfying soft click before sliding it shut.

Gabriel flipped the laptop open and waited for it to turn on, an annoyance that he had never had to tolerate in Heaven. It slapped him in the face every time. He somehow always forgot about it loading so slowly here. Had he still been an angel, perhaps he might have tried to feel grateful it functioned from within Hell at all.

“Gratitude” wasn't a very demonic emotion. He sighed instead.

The eagle flapped its wings a couple times, echoing his frustration. Gabriel rearranged its feathers once more, distracting himself with the action and sensation, eventually closing his eyes to focus on the feeling.

_Too small._ Gabriel shifted his hand to run his fingers through the wings, His familiar shifted closer to him on the bar, and turned around to give him access to its longer primary and tail feathers. _Much better._ Gabriel imagined they were black, and attached to a trembling form.

A series of pleasant notes that sounded like they were played on a harp interrupted Gabriel’s fantasy. 

He opened his eyes to see that the laptop had finally finished powering up. Just a few clicks later, he was viewing what he had turned it on to see.

Data logs for Device #777034-D.

Crowley’s collar.

Gabriel had been watching for changes that were recorded dating back to his fall. The collar saw occasional spikes in activity for around two weeks, then it appeared to be turned to the minimum setting for a few weeks before being removed entirely. 

It was strangely returned for a brief period of time, less than an hour, then removed once more.

_It wasn’t even used. Just put on him and left at 01._

Since that one instance, the collar had never been worn by Crowley or any other demon. Over a month had passed since then, nearly two now.

Gabriel snapped his fingers and couldn't prevent a knowing grin when it failed to summon the device into his hands.

_So this collar is either locked away in Heaven somewhere… or locked on a subject._ Gabriel looked again at the laptop screen, he clicked over to live data to see that Device #777034-D was not in use. _The former, then. Which means Crowley is either in Heaven without a collar on… highly unlikely... or on Earth. The only reason the collar should be off at all is for him to resume contact with Hell, and_ that _hasn’t happened._

He had thought about it more than once. Gabriel would have loved to see Crowley sent into Hell to spy, only to run into Gabriel here. Crowley would never return to Heaven again, and his little spy mission? Gabriel would make it his personal assignment and duty to ensure that Crowley never spied again.

_It's possible they've installed a newer prototype on him? A different collar?_ There was a spike in activity for successful violence just before #777034-D was turned down to 01, and a few other instances of violence before that, after Gabriel fell. Perhaps Crowley's current device stopped working as intended?

Gabriel made his way through a few menus of the collar tracking program until he found Crowley’s information. He clicked over to the panel for live tracking and received the message:

**NO ACTIVE DEVICE FOUND**

“Which only leaves Earth.” Gabriel leaned over to the bottom drawer on the right side of his desk, opening it and reaching in just as he had done with the main drawer just under the exotic woods of the surface. He pulled out a collar and remote from the hidden compartment, placing them both on the desk beside the laptop.

It had been painfully simple to obtain. He had gone to the research and development department to ask about some features he already knew about. They had shown him on a spare collar. Michael had ordered them to have a few extras on hand, just in case they were needed. Gabriel had stopped time at just the right moment, just after the drawer for the spares had been closed, but before the angel was able to activate the miracle-proof lock. The angel had believed it was safely put away when it was really in Gabriel's office.

Gabriel had wanted to see about modifying the appearance and parameters so that Crowley would never truly be without a collar even when the rest of Heaven believed he was. Unfortunately, the design wasn't as malleable as he had hoped, so it had been stored away in his desk. He had initially intended to return the collar, but word had gotten out that a spare collar had gone missing. 

When Gabriel had found out his name wasn't anywhere on the list of individuals under suspicion, he saw fit to keep it. His plans changed. He was going to threaten to use the collar on Aziraphale while Crowley was spying for Heaven.

Heaven wouldn't have approved of course, but he knew Crowley would obey without question if his precious angel was on the line. Since Crowley was desperate to keep his boyfriend a secret, no one would ever have found out about the threats. Gabriel doubted he'd ever have to act on them, although he fantasized about having both Aziraphale and Crowley collared and kneeling at his feet. It was a very pretty picture.

Now, though? Crowley had no collar at all, and that wasn't acceptable.

Gabriel navigated his way over to a new window on the laptop and held a few buttons down on the collar. The screen flickered, then read:

**CREATE NEW DEVICE PROFILE #777035-D?**

He hovered over the affirmative action for a few seconds before clicking into the advanced menu. He changed several settings for privacy and access of the yet to be created profile, making it only accessible to those who searched for it directly by name. 

Gabriel tried a few names and found the program unwilling to accept them. He hadn’t created a custom named profile like this in Heaven, so he had no idea if this was Hellish interference or simply shoddy Heavenly work.The error infuriatingly wouldn’t tell him the name requirements at all.

His familiar ruffled its wings and let out a brief shrill as Gabriel glared at the screen in frustration.

He tried a name with a more similar format to Heaven’s premade names and hit enter. The screen read: 

**CREATE NEW CUSTOM DEVICE PROFILE #666GCS-1?**

Gabriel clicked _Yes._

**CUSTOMIZE DEFAULT SETTINGS/PERMISSIONS?**

Gabriel clicked _Yes_ again.

Once finished with the process of registering himself as the sole admin of the collar, and selecting how he wanted the collar to behave, the laptop gave a pleasant jingle with its final message.

**SETUP COMPLETE**

Gabriel closed and stored the laptop where it belonged. He looked down at the device in his grasp, smooth, cold and metallic. It was missing something. He snapped his fingers and the metal quickly darkened until it was nearly black. A tilt of the device in his hands caused it to catch the light and a glint of purple was barely visible. After pressing a series of buttons, the collar unlocked in Gabriel’s hands. He picked up the remote and slid it into his inside coat pocket. The slight weight of it felt right resting against his chest.

Oh, how he had _missed_ this, and soon the wait would be over.

“Vacation time is over, sweetheart. It’s time to come home.”

* * *

Gabriel walked with purpose down the streets of London. He didn’t transport himself directly into the bookshop where he was sure his demon was tucked away. This wasn’t just about getting Crowley back. If that was all, he could have had Crowley collared and down in Hell by now. Presentation was key, and just as Gabriel’s suits were perfectly tailored to fit his body, Crowley’s recapture would be perfectly choreographed to shatter his hope.

If Gabriel did this right, Crowley wouldn’t dream of escape.

He stopped time as he neared the bookshop. His familiar stayed within range, swooping from tree branch to rooftop as Gabriel advanced on his destination.

As expected, the shop was closed for business. The doors still swung open easily for Gabriel as he miracled himself access with a dismissive wave of his hand. Once his eagle had flown inside, Gabriel snapped his fingers to close and relock the entrance. He stalked through the shop, finding it empty of life and full of clutter. 

If Crowley wasn’t here, Aziraphale absolutely was; Gabriel had picked up on more than a few of the Principality’s habits and telltale signs throughout the years. The bookshop was in a state he’d only seen a handful of times before. It was always more chaotic than the strict organization procedures followed by Heaven, but the stacks of books overflowing from the back room only appeared when Aziraphale was researching something for Heaven, most often for an assignment.

Gabriel sifted through a few books on the desk in the back room. _Demonology books. And books on Archangels. Seems I got here at the right time._ A solid white book without any words on the spine caught his eye. He reached forward and pulled it out from the top shelf of the desk. _The collar manual? Interesting._

He hadn’t given much thought as to _why_ Crowley no longer had a collar on. Gabriel had _expected_ Crowley to flee to Aziraphale if he was given the chance. He would have assumed Crowley had been sent to spy and instead ran to Aziraphale for help. Or it was possible the project may have been dissolved, and Crowley was released. 

_But if either of those were the case, Aziraphale definitely wouldn’t have_ this _on his desk._ He tossed the manual on to the cluttered surface. _And he couldn’t have gained the access to remove the collar either._

All this meant that if Crowley _was_ here, Heaven knew about it. Specifically, Michael must have known about it, because she was the only other Archangel on the special committee. 

_That is_ very _interesting._

Gabriel looked around, spotting the staircase leading upstairs. The familiar flew up ahead of him and had perched high on a bookshelf in the back corner of the room by the time Gabriel finished ascending the steps. His eyes scanned the living room and found the angel sitting on the couch. Gabriel stepped closer, stalking around the couch to find that the Principality was not alone.

Both of them were paused, stopped still with time. Gabriel knew they would be, but knowing and seeing for oneself were two very different things. He’d had no idea how he might find them, and the reality was far from pleasant.

Crowley was napping on the couch, curled up against Aziraphale, who was reading. 

_No, researching,_ Gabriel noted as he walked up to the couch, taking in the scene with a mix of livid emotions simmering under the surface. Aziraphale had pages of notes surrounding him and a pen perched on one ear. He was frowning in serious thought, one hand rested in Crowley’s hair.

Crowley had a contented smile on his lips, one arm behind the angel and the other flung across his lap, his head resting against Aziraphale’s thigh. 

Wings hidden. Fully clothed. Wounds healed. Uncollared.

_Disgusting._

The entire picture was sweet in a way that made Gabriel want to burn the entirety of London to the ground. 

Gabriel _knew_ they were together, _knew_ Crowley had been lying to him, but seeing it was so much more infuriating than being lied to all this time. Which was saying something, because Crowley’s refusal to betray this worthless Principality despite Gabriel’s attempts to convince him to do so had ruffled his feathers from day one.

A short cry from the eagle behind him echoed through the silence of stilled time. The sound was accompanied by a few flaps of wings; it expressed what Gabriel was restraining within himself. Desire to strike. It sliced through his thoughts and called him to action.

He grabbed Crowley and lifted him from the couch with ease, tossing him to the floor a few feet away from the coffee table. A sweep of his arm cleared the contents of the table, shoving all of it off onto the rug below. Gabriel sat down on the couch right next to Aziraphale where Crowley’s shoulder had been moments ago. Then, from his coat pocket he pulled out the unlocked collar and placed it on the table, within reach if he leaned forward. He adjusted the collar so that the opening was facing Crowley before leaning back on the couch and draping a casually possessive arm over the back of it, behind Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Now _this_ was a picture that pleased Gabriel. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but he was confident they’d get pretty close. Gabriel raised his left hand and snapped.

Crowley writhed on the ground, his limbs flailing, startled from sleep with the sudden burst of all the movement Gabriel had caused while time was frozen.

Drowsiness was blinked away to confusion, and the confusion was quickly overtaken by horror as he righted himself and saw Gabriel lounging on the couch next to Aziraphale, who was still locked in place. 

Gabriel wanted some time alone with Crowley before starting the real fun.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Gabriel said with an air of indifference, making a point to look at his watch, unmoving. “Or is it afternoon here? I suppose... the time doesn’t matter, does it?”

He shifted his gaze back to Crowley, his position half-kneeling, half-sitting on the floor. He looked ready to rise to his feet at any moment, but even while that was true, Crowley's posture was devoid of confidence. Lips parted and closed, searching for words, tongue wetting them, and then swallowing. His serpentine eyes flickered warily between Gabriel and Aziraphale.

Gabriel leaned over Aziraphale, reaching out with his free hand to flip through the pages of the book still in the angel’s grasp. “I took a bit to see what you and your precious angel were researching. I can’t decide if it’s admirable, naive, or pathetic that you thought you _might_ be able to stop me somehow. How selfish of you, too, to put him in danger trying to help you.”

“Don’t-”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” Gabriel sneered. “You don’t get to call the shots here. Put the collar on, then we can be on our way.” He gestured at the metal device resting on the table between them.

Crowley’s attention shifted to the collar on the table, his eyes going wide for a moment, before he glared at Gabriel. “I’m not powerless. I-I don’t have to do anything you say. You shouldn’t have come here. I’m-”

“Going to put that collar on your neck. Slowly.” Gabriel stated calmly, a stern undertone to the words to serve as a warning. 

Crowley flinched in reaction; it was obvious Gabriel’s tone had had the desired effect on the other demon. But he recovered quickly, defiance rising in his voice, his own words inspiring and fueling his insolent notions. “What if I get it on _you_ first? Who’s the boss then?” 

To Gabriel’s surprise, Crowley actually rose to his feet. He didn’t let the other demon see any reaction on his own features other than his quickly fading patience. 

“Your boyfriend here might burn first, but you can try.” 

He tore one page out of the book in Aziraphale’s hands, held it up, and set it aflame between his fingertips. The page broke free from his grasp and landed on the carpet near the couch. He ground out the remainder of the embers under his shoe and looked up at Crowley.

_Your hope is next, sweetheart._

He could tell Crowley was still debating fighting back. There was a bold anger in his eyes although the waver in his voice told Gabriel that his hope for success was thin and fragile. “I’ve been a demon longer than you. I’ve taken on demons a rank or two above my own more than once. You don’t scare me.”

Gabriel had expected Crowley to crumble at the mere mention of harming Aziraphale. That wasn’t the reaction Crowley displayed. Instead, the other demon shifted slightly on his feet. He appeared even more ready to take Gabriel down, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

_He thinks he might be able to overpower me?_

Crowley was different with access to miracles - far too confident. 

_Time to fix that._  
  
“What makes you believe I _don’t_ far outrank you, sweetheart?” Gabriel narrowed his eyes.  
  
“You don’t-” 

It was then that the familiar swooped down from its silent, watchful perch behind Crowley and landed on his shoulder, powerful talons digging in, wings flapping to balance itself. Crowley yelped in surprise and fell to his knees, reaching up to try and pry one claw off himself only to have the eagle snap at his hand for trying to dislodge it. 

“Fuck,” he gasped out, looking between the bird and Gabriel with confusion.

Gabriel rose from the couch and moved to stoop down next to Crowley. He grabbed a handful of red hair, disappointingly far shorter than it had been last he saw Crowley, but still enough left at the front to allow him to secure a grip. When he spoke, his voice was low and threatening, daring Crowley to question him once more and see what happened as a result.

“I don’t what? Have a familiar? Because I do. As it turns out, it’s an eagle. I wonder what that says about me.” Gabriel wrenched Crowley’s head back so he could be sure the other demon could see him wave a hand over his mark, concealing it from the world. “And you.”

He let go of Crowley’s hair with a sharp shove towards the ground and stood to walk towards the coffee table. Gabriel picked up the collar and took a moment to look between Crowley and Aziraphale slowly. 

He allowed his tone to shift into something nearly playful. “Now, tell me honestly, little serpent, which one will get you to behave like you are supposed to, hm? Putting it on him, or you?" Gabriel walked over to Aziraphale and tilted the angel’s head back, teasingly running a hand around his neck. He trailed the open collar up Aziraphale’s chest, frightening Crowley with the possibility of it being locked around his throat once it rose far enough.

“No! Please don’t,” Crowley pleaded directly up at him, looking Gabriel right in the eyes. The terror Gabriel saw there was satisfying, but far from enough.  
  
“ _No?_ ” Gabriel growled as he stepped away from Aziraphale, glaring down at Crowley. His voice was still mockingly innocent. “You really are just starting things off with a list of lessons to relearn, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley’s frantic gaze was still direct, eyes wide and fearful, although he remained distracted by both the collar and Aziraphale. Crowley glanced at both frequently when not looking at Gabriel.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes and fixed Crowley with a pointed look. “What _else_ have you forgotten?”

Immediately, Crowley dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.”

Hearing Crowley say it sent a shiver down his spine. 

_Of all the times for you to_ not _fuck up, sweetheart._

It was everything he had wanted, but that _was not_ going to fly in Hell.

He grabbed hold of Crowley’s hair again, forcing the other demon to look at him. “What did you just say?”

The familiar repositioned a claw and sunk its talons in once more. Wings flapped, causing Crowley to wince and resist Gabriel’s grip. 

Gabriel could see tears forming at the corners of Crowley’s golden eyes. 

_Yes, that’s more like it, sweetheart._

“I’m sorry, Go-”

“Silence.” Gabriel released his grip on Crowley and slapped him across the face. He waited to see if Crowley would look back up at him. 

The other demon remained slouched away from Gabriel, he simply settled into the defeated pose that the force of the slap had left him in. 

When Gabriel knew Crowley intended to stay still, he continued. “If I _ever_ hear you use that word again, I’ll give you a knife, and you’ll feed him your own flesh until I tell you to stop. Do you understand?”

Crowley slowly looked up at Gabriel, confusion clouding his expression. His eyes widened in realization after Gabriel looked between him and the familiar. Crowley let his head droop back down, avoiding Gabriel’s gaze as the horror of the threat sunk in. “Yes, master.” 

“That’s much better. Exactly what I love to hear.” 

_I'm not at the top of Hell's hierarchy yet, but I will be, and you are going to help get me there. You won't be the only one calling me God, soon, sweetheart. Until then, master will have to do._

He reached forward and stroked a gentle hand through Crowley’s hair. There really was not enough of it. He tugged gently and put some power into the motion, growing Crowley’s hair out to his shoulders. 

The action caused Crowley to shudder. Tears fell from his downturned face, darkening the rug below.

“Yes, much better.” Gabriel’s mouth curved up at the edges as he looked down at Crowley and continued to run fingers through the other demon’s much improved locks of red. “Now. I believe I asked you a question earlier. Do you need me to repeat it for you? Have you forgotten it already?”

“No, master.” Crowley shook his head and trembled, holding out his hands in a supplicating gesture in front of himself. “Please, master. I’ll behave if you put the collar on me.”

Gabriel’s reassuring strokes swiftly changed into a painful hold. Crowley closed his eyes when Gabriel forced his head back; his cheeks glistened from his silent tears. 

Gabriel leaned down and snarled in Crowley’s ear, “You’ll behave no matter _who_ I put this on, sweetheart.”

“Yes! Yes, I will, master.” 

Gabriel could feel Crowley trying to nod within his grasp. The feeling only made him want more and made him want to have it _now._ He could hardly wait to feel Crowley writhing under him again.

_All things in due time._

Gabriel stood upright and positioned himself so that Crowley would be able to see him and Aziraphale still frozen behind him. He gripped one of Crowley’s wrists in the hand that still held the collar and turned it palm up. As he spoke, Gabriel pressed the collar into Crowley’s hand forcefully. “But I do think it looks better on you than wasted on _him._ ” A bitter disgust seeped into his words when he mentioned Aziraphale. “Open your eyes and look at me as you put it on, Crowley.”

It took a few seconds for Crowley to comply. Then, eyelids fluttered open, releasing more tears down his face. He glanced at the collar in his hands only long enough to be sure it was flipped the correct way. He turned it around in his grasp, then his eyes went to Aziraphale as he raised it to neck level. Finally, he looked Gabriel in the eyes and moved it to encircle his own neck.

The hollow, dispirited expression on Crowley’s face caused a satisfied expression on his own. Gabriel waited for Crowley to close it; the kneeling demon begged him with pleading eyes. A silent plea for Gabriel to stop Crowley from shutting it.  
  
As if there was a single chance in Heaven Gabriel would ever do such a thing.

The timeless silence stretched for several seconds. Crowley gave one more glance to Aziraphale before swallowing and meeting Gabriel’s eyes. Conflict and fear faded as he took a breath and pressed on both sides of the collar, closing it around himself.

When the collar clicked shut around Crowley’s neck, Gabriel held a hand out for his familiar. Gabriel praised the bird with a quick scratch under its chin and a few pats on the head. The familiar made a few soft, pleased-sounding trills before Gabriel jerked his head towards the couch, dismissing it; it flew over to the opposite end of the couch from Aziraphale and began preening itself.

Gabriel looked down at Crowley in time to see more tears running down the demon’s face. Gabriel let go of Crowley’s hair to wipe his face dry. He ran a hand down Crowley’s face, down his neck to hook under the collar. A few experimental tugs were given to be sure it was fastened securely.

“There we go, sweetheart. That’s better, isn’t it?” Gabriel’s tone was warm and inviting. He patted Crowley’s cheek, the same one he had slapped earlier. “Almost ready to go home now.”

Gabriel turned away from Crowley and snapped his fingers. A set of shackles connected by a chain appeared in his hands. They were warm with energy. He looked down at them. The metal was a curious, marbled mix of black and white, the engravings on the chainlinks and cuffs a mix of red and gold. He approached Aziraphale, plucking the book from his grasp and tossing it over a shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Crowley sounded panicked behind him.

Gabriel looked over at Crowley with a slight frown and one brow raised. He said nothing, waiting for Crowley to continue. 

Crowley wilted slightly under Gabriel’s gaze. “I-I mean, master, please. I agreed to obey. I promise, I will.”

Gabriel turned back to Aziraphale without a word. He waved a hand over the shackles and they expanded in size so they could easily be slipped over a hand or fist. 

Crowley scrambled forward on the floor. A hand sealed a tight grip on Gabriel’s pant leg, his head pressed against Gabriel’s leg. His voice was dismayed.

“Please, master. Let me show you. What can I do to-” 

“You will let go of me. Immediately,” Gabriel said with ice-cold calm. 

Once Crowley had obeyed and backed away, Gabriel slipped both cuffs over Aziraphale’s hands, then snapped his fingers. The handcuffs tightened on the angel’s wrists and shifted colors the moment they were secure. All traces of gold and white vanished as the metal became solid black, almost onyx, and the engravings changed to become entirely crimson. 

“Master…” The single word sounded so heartbroken, betrayed. 

Gabriel turned to Crowley. 

Horror was visible in Crowley’s eyes as he looked at Aziraphale. “Why?” he whispered out through shuddering breaths, overcome with emotion and halted by tears.

“You chose this, Crowley,” he replied simply, almost pitying.

Crowley shook his head emphatically. “I-I would never.”

Gabriel’s expression hardened. His tone was light, imploring. “Would I be here, a demon, _fallen_ , if you had given him up like you were supposed to, Crowley?” 

“I- what?” The kneeling demon looked up at him incredulously with something close enough to anger in his eyes that Gabriel felt his self control beginning to slip. He reached forward and seized hold of Crowley’s wrist as the eagle swooped over and landed on Crowley’s shoulder once more. 

Gabriel jerked Crowley over to Aziraphale and snarled. “No. I wouldn’t. We’d both be in Heaven right now. But you just wouldn’t let him go.” He looped his free arm under the chain of the handcuffs on Aziraphale’s wrists, pulling the angel toward himself slightly, raising the same hand poised to snap. “So now, I won’t be letting go of him either. Because everything that _was_ yours, Crowley, is _mine_ now.”

He snapped, teleporting them directly to a completely closed off dungeon cell. Gabriel shoved Crowley to one side of the room and Aziraphale towards the opposite wall. 

The eagle took flight as Crowley lost his balance; it perched high on the pipes near the ceiling.

Crowley shook his head and looked up at Gabriel. “Please, master.”

Entirely distraught would have been putting it mildly. Gabriel had never seen Crowley so wildly desperate to get through to him. Crowley had always become more emotional over Aziraphale, but all the mentions and threats paled in comparison to having Aziraphale in the room. How satisfying this would be, then, when Gabriel continued to ignore Crowley and instead took his time with the angel. 

With a snap, Gabriel made sure Crowley was secured to the wall by a chain attached to the collar. He snapped a second time, and the chain shortened enough that Crowley would not be able to reach him or Aziraphale. It dragged Crowley across the floor abruptly, making him yelp in pain and surprise, then cough at the sudden harsh treatment of his throat.

“I think we’re ready.” Gabriel let a satisfied smirk display across his features. He held his fingers up to snap one final time. “Time to finally find out what makes him so special.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I really appreciate all the comments and feedback so much!
> 
> Chapter 6 will arrive on December 2nd!
> 
> [The Repossessed](https://discord.gg/nHNHAyyqBy) is a Discord server for all of us Repoverse, Descent Into Perdition and other dark Good Omens works fans out there to collect, share fic recommendations, chat, stream artwork creation, and hang out! We are an entirely 18+, choose to warn server, so fans of dark works can speak freely about their ideas. 
> 
> If you are a fan of these long, dark Good Omens works, we are very much hoping you'll join us in creating a little community! If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me on Discord. (Or via any of the contact methods listed on my profile) I'm Latromi #9997.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you for all the wonderful support and comments on chapter 5!
> 
> It's December 2nd! I hope you are all ready for chapter 6! This concludes the last of the chapters I had final drafts done of before my haitus. I've been waiting a long time for your reactions on it and I hope it will be worth the wait!
> 
> Another big thank you, as always, to [DreamsofSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsofSpike) and [Dacelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin) for support, beta work, and feedback! I'd also like to thank [Mevima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima) for reaching out after chapter 5 went live to let me know of some minor typos/errors!
> 
> Special shoutout to The Repossessed Discord server! Y'all are lovely and make running a server a complete joy!
> 
> Aren't part of The Repossessed Discord server? Consider joining us! More info at the end of the chapter. After today, I'll only be putting info for the server into the first chapter of each month, but past invite links will remain live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-con in this chapter, folks!

A rush of motion swam across Aziraphale's entire body. He felt forces push and pull against him in an instant, and blinked his eyes several times, trying to discern the cause of this sudden onslaught of sensation.

At first he thought he might have fallen asleep and awakened with a start, but the sensation of motion was too severe, too jarring to be caused by a dream. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his head, a bit sore from what he had to assume was an impact of some kind. Moving one hand resulted in the other getting tugged right along with it. He looked down and saw his wrists were shackled together in an infernal set of cuffs. 

_ No, not infernal. The script is Enochian.  _ He scanned the words as quickly as he was able to with his head still pounding.  _ Powers. Sever. Unbreakable.  _ One that's nearest English equivalent would have been something like, 'the one who binds can unbind'.

_ That's… not good. _

Aziraphale closed his eyes. He was cut off from Heaven entirely. Perhaps his corporation was slightly hardier than a typical human, and therefore not  _ quite _ reduced to human from the bindings, but he had never felt so weak before.    
  
_ Do humans feel this drained and powerless all the time? How do they stand it? _

Slowly, the pounding in his head started to fade. Aziraphale opened his eyes again, and the world clicked into focus. 

He really wished it hadn't.

The room was not too dissimilar from the one in Heaven where he'd found Crowley, only this one was far smaller, not to mention grimier. Dust and dirt settled into the cracks of the stone floor. A leak or two from the pipes above had resulted in patches of mold on the walls and floor.

Crowley was across the cell, locked in the collar again. The color was different now; but Aziraphale would have recognized that blasted display no matter how well-disguised the rest of the device might have been. He was too far away to read the display, but Crowley didn’t appear to be tense from the sort of pain it delivered. His dear demon looked terrified, and appeared to be chained to the wall, but apart from some minor damage to his shirt around his right shoulder, he seemed unharmed.

Two dark dress shoes were standing to his right, just within his peripheral vision. He didn’t want to look. Seeing the demon would make it real. Well, more real than he already knew it was; he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Aziraphale settled his mind with a deep breath, then looked up into the nearly sparkling violet gaze above him. The former Archangel was looking down at him with a positively impatient expression. Had he been sitting down, Gabriel certainly would have been at the edge of his seat, ready for whatever he had planned. His hands were clasped in front of himself, expectant, almost excited.

"Gabriel." Aziraphale addressed the demon with a slight tilt to his head; he couldn’t stop his voice from sounding wary underneath the obvious tension.

“Hey, Aziraphale! Glad to have you with us!” 

Gabriel spoke in a way that was entirely too upbeat and eager for the current setting. Aziraphale had heard almost that exact tone so often when crossing paths with Gabriel on Earth, but this time it lacked the false enthusiasm that always seemed to color anything Gabriel said or did.

Aziraphale had known Gabriel since before man invented the tracking of time, before man’s creation at all. And for the first time ever, Gabriel sounded one hundred percent genuine, and that only served to unsettle Aziraphale to an immeasurable degree.

_ Why did none of us see this coming?  _ Gabriel's Fall seemed dreadfully obvious now that he was staring directly at the demon.

Gabriel lifted Aziraphale to his feet and looked him up and down with a frown. He made a disapproving sigh. Then, to Aziraphale’s surprise, the demon began dusting him off. 

“Sorry about that. Order some demons to prepare a cell and they are so used to the unsanitary _filth_ that they don’t bother with the dust. Simply no standards down here.”

Aziraphale nodded slightly, not daring to say or do anything to shift Gabriel’s mood. Even though everything about this was  _ wrong. _ He could feel energy put behind the actions of wiping dirt from his coat and trousers. Then, Gabriel pulled at Aziraphale’s clothing, straightening his shirt and bowtie, even fussing with his hair.

He knew Gabriel wasn’t sorry. This was not concern, it was preparation, or conditioning. The words, “like a lamb to the slaughter” came to mind. 

It was a deeply unpleasant thought.

“That’s better.” Gabriel placed one hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder before he snapped his fingers, and the dirt and mold from the cell floor and walls was instantly cleaned, spotless. He found himself turned slightly and backed against a wall. Crowley was to his left, just within view if he glanced to the side.

It pained him deeply that whatever Gabriel had planned, Crowley was going to be able to watch. 

Dark rocks shifted above them until a curved hook jutted out from the smooth stone of the cell wall. Gabriel lifted the chain between Aziraphale's wrists and secured it above his head. The hook fastened fully to the wall once Gabriel snapped, preventing Aziraphale from being able to rattle the chain free. A single finger trailed down his chest, teased at his waistband. 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, his own eyes sad. 

Crowley was at the very end of his chain but still much too far away to do anything. His hands were tucked into angry fists, golden eyes intense with fury. 

Aziraphale wanted to hold Crowley, tell him everything would be fine even though it most certainly was not. “You don’t have to watch, my de-”

The hand that had been tracing along the top edge of his trousers swiftly gripped Aziraphale's chin instead and forced him to look ahead.

“Actually, sweetheart, you do.” Gabriel looked across the cell at Crowley before returning his concentration to Aziraphale.

Oh, that name was horrible. 

Crowley had neglected to mention Gabriel had any  _ nicknames _ for him, and that one was so horrifyingly accurate for Crowley that it made Aziraphale abruptly pull his chin from the demon’s grasp. His mouth turned down and brows furrowed, utterly revolted.

Gabriel moved his hand downward rather than grip Aziraphale's face once more - making quick work of his bowtie and vest. He had just begun undoing the buttons on Aziraphale’s shirt when Crowley spoke up.

“Please, master!”

“Just one moment, sunshine. I’ll be right back with you.” Gabriel patted Aziraphale on the cheek patronizingly and whirled on Crowley, stalking over to the kneeling demon in a few, long strides across the cell.

“Am I going to need to gag you, sweetheart?” 

Crowley shrank back as Gabriel got in range, but the motion was not quick enough nor exaggerated enough to prevent Gabriel from gripping a handful of his fiery locks. He pulled Crowley forward by the hair, away from the wall, using the chain to choke off any possibility of response.

_ His hair wasn't that long before.  _ Aziraphale deeply hoped he hadn't been out long enough for Crowley's hair to  _ regrow _ that long, and that it had simply been miracled longer.

“It doesn’t have to be me, you know. You should be thankful I don’t open the door and get a line going. I could take care of you and we could both watch the show,” Gabriel suggested slowly. He looked up at Aziraphale at the end of the offer, a malicious hunger shining in his eyes.

Crowley tried to shake his head despite the grip in his hair. Aziraphale could see him wordlessly mouthing the word “please” over and over. Crowley didn’t need to breathe, but that did not help Aziraphale feel any better. 

It just meant Gabriel could go right on strangling Crowley for as long as he saw fit to.

Aziraphale needed to get Gabriel’s attention back on him and off Crowley. “Gabriel, you don’t have to do this. Whatever you are after, I am sure we can find… something.”

It worked. Gabriel let go of Crowley’s hair, although he stayed standing across the room, next to Crowley.

“What I’m after?” Gabriel responded with amusement, a small smile at his lips. “I do have some more long-term ideas in mind... but right now?” He slowly rose his hand up and snapped his fingers. Crowley’s clothes vanished, revealing that it wasn’t just his shirt that was damaged; Crowley’s right shoulder had several punctures and scrapes. Gabriel’s smile was smug and gleamed with malicious intent. “I have everything I’ve been wanting right here. Thanks for the offer, though.”

He looked down at Crowley and stilled. Crowley was trembling in fear, eyes wide but cast down to the floor. There were sounds of wings flapping. Confused by the noise, Aziraphale looked for the source and noticed a large bird of prey perched on the pipes. Its mouth was opened slightly, agitated and ready to strike.

_ Gabriel has a familiar?  _ That meant Gabriel was no mere demon; he already had significant power here in Hell.  _ He has to be at least a Duke.  _

_ Even if our powers were free, Crowley and I would stand no chance. _

Aziraphale could see blind rage building in Gabriel for a few dreadful breaths before he shoved Crowley face first into the stone floor. 

_ No, no, no. Please. Why? He hasn’t  _ done _ anything.  _

Crowley had said something about Gabriel sometimes being entirely unpredictable. If this was anywhere close to that, then Aziraphale couldn’t imagine how Crowley survived over a  _ year _ in Gabriel’s “ _ care.”  _ He couldn’t reach his pocket watch to know how long it had been, but he didn’t need it to know it hadn’t been even a fraction of the time Crowley had already endured.

Gabriel ground Crowley’s face against the stone, snarling his words out as Crowley whimpered below him but remained otherwise completely still. “Do you like the collar's reminders of who owns you better than mine, sweetheart?” His tone lightened, turning to pity. “I was going to go easier on you, but you took away the easy option. No other choice now.”

_ What is he talking about? Easy option? _

Aziraphale pulled slightly at his own restraints, already knowing he wouldn’t be moving anywhere but hating being stuck against the wall like this. He knew nothing he could say would stop Gabriel and feared speaking up might only cause him to take his anger out on Crowley.

Gabriel reached down to touch Crowley’s lower back. “Not even concealed. It’s  _ gone.  _ I can’t believe you  _ healed _ my mark, you worthless little serpent.” He lifted his hand away, into his coat to pull out the remote for the collar. Crowley was braced on the ground, tense, anticipating further pain. 

“That wasn’t him!” Aziraphale blurted out the second he realized what Gabriel meant.

Gabriel’s gaze snapped up angrily. “Excuse me?” Disbelief warred with fury as the Duke rose to his feet slowly.

“He - he didn’t heal it. That thing on his back? That was me.” Aziraphale tried his best to straighten his posture and look brave in the face of the demon advancing on him. Crowley sat up and gave Aziraphale a look of terror, shaking his head, silently begging the angel not to say any more.

But if saying more would keep Crowley safe from Gabriel... it was worth it. Gabriel was focused on him, and Aziraphale wanted to keep it that way. 

“I healed that disgusting thing. It was barbaric. I couldn’t stand the sight of it.”

Gabriel idly played with the remote. It shifted between his fingers and cast little glints of light on the stone. He had a dark, bemused look about him as he seemed to consider how to respond to Aziraphale’s words. “Barbaric?”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale retorted with a glare.

“You haven’t  _ seen _ barbaric yet, sunshine.” A cold smile spread across his lips, danger flashed within his violet stare. “You think he’s yours?” He asked with a sneer, moving the hand with the remote to point it at Crowley for a moment, then jabbing the edge of the metal into Aziraphale’s neck, mimicking a knife. 

Gabriel put brief pressure on the remote to add emphasis to his words. “He’ll never be yours.” Press. “He belongs to me.” Press again. “And now, you do, too.” And again. “So you are going to do  _ everything _ I say, or I’ll turn on the collar, and make your punishment into  _ his _ problem, too.” A press once more, firmer still. “Got that, sunshine?” 

He loathed this nickname as well. Gabriel had used it once or twice toward him when especially pissed off, but it being used in the same way he called Crowley “sweetheart” made him ill. 

Aziraphale nodded, prepared for the worst. 

This was not an adequate response to the demon, who leaned in more on the remote, hard enough to choke.

“I asked you a question,” he growled out in warning. Aziraphale could feel the heat of his breath across his face. “I expect a  _ polite _ response.”

“I-I understand.” He gasped out once Gabriel removed the metal from his throat. Aziraphale swallowed a few times to try and regain some feeling of normalcy without being able to touch the spot with his hands.

“Perfect.” 

All the negative energy melted away as Gabriel pocketed the remote. He reached up to massage Aziraphale’s neck; his face was far too close. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed it before, but the ever-shifting intensity of the violet coloring within his eyes was gone. A single, static hue accentuated the sharp emotions there now, even while the demon seemed pleased. It made him more difficult to read; the color was vibrant as if he were provoked all the time.

Fingertips moved down his neck, across his shoulders and up his arms. Aziraphale aimed a hurt, confused expression at the demon, who watched him with an assessing, predatory gaze. One eyebrow rose as if to ask, _ "Would you rather I be rough?" _

No, Aziraphale would rather Gabriel not be touching him at all. He hated that the touch was nearly pleasant. It was firm, but still gentle, urging his muscles to relax under small, insistent circles. One hand began undoing his shirt buttons once more.

“So tense…” Gabriel admonished with a frown. “You’ve done this before with him, right? Nothing to be afraid of, so just relax, sunshine.”

The demon explored his freshly exposed chest with steady hands, which only caused his muscles to tighten further. 

“I am afraid that won’t be possible, given the circumstances,” Aziraphale responded dryly. The contact on his bare skin made him press against the wall, trying to get as far away from the touch as possible. “Terribly sorry to disappoint.” He held the demon's eyes with an unwavering glare.

Gabriel shrugged. “Only making things more difficult on yourself, but fine, have it your way.” He started working on removing Aziraphale’s trousers.

Crowley’s chain rattled as he reached the end of the length once more. “No, don't! Don't hurt him! Please." 

Aziraphale saw Gabriel's eyes show a flicker of outrage, suppressed as swiftly as it appeared.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetheart.” He dismissed the idea as if it were absurd. “As long as he obeys...” Gabriel looked back to Aziraphale, his gaze piercing. “... I’ll play nice.” Aziraphale’s trousers were unzipped and shoved to the ground.

The urgency in Crowley’s voice rose. "Please, not him. Punish me, master.”

Gabriel let out an irritated sigh. He backed away from Aziraphale and took a step toward Crowley. Contempt shone in his eyes. “He’s the one who removed my mark. If sunshine here is jealous  _ and it clearly hurts you  _ when I am touching  _ him _ , then why should I pay attention to you?”

Aziraphale let go of a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding; tension drained from his limbs even though anxiety built in the air once more. He looked toward Crowley with sorrow. 

_ Crowley and I are doing the same thing. Neither of us wants to see the other harmed, but Gabriel isn’t going to swap between us and do nothing forever.  _

_ Please, love, just let him focus on me. You’ve already suffered so much. _

“I-I was the one who begged him to remove the marks. He didn't want to. He was afraid you'd retaliate. It's my fault. Punish me. Please, use me instead."

Gabriel’s expression suddenly lit up. Aziraphale could practically see the gears turning as the demon regarded him with renewed interest. Aziraphale knew that look on Gabriel - there was an inspired glint in his eyes, a realization of previously unknown and only recently appreciated value. He had seen this expression on Gabriel before, but always in response to comments made by angels the former Archangel actually bothered to listen to; it was never directed at him.

Aziraphale always wanted Gabriel to give him that look in Heaven, but receiving it now only brought him a feeling of great unease.

The eagerness from the start of this terrible series of events in Hell was back in Gabriel's voice and twinkling at the corners of his eyes. 

“Are you going to obey?”

Aziraphale really did not like enthusiastic Duke Gabriel, but this version of the demon at least resembled a shadow of someone with manners or respect. It seemed the choices here were between a Gabriel who incited chilling dread, or blind, confused panic. Of the two, Aziraphale at least felt somewhat in control of the former, rather than the latter. 

“That depends... are you going to punish Crowley if I refuse?”

“Every time,” Gabriel replied with a calm smile.

“Then I suppose I have no choice, do I?”

“That’s the answer I was looking for, sunshine. You are a quick learner. I've always liked that about you.” 

The compliments were emphasized by a condescending tone and a friendly clap on his shoulder. Never in all the years Aziraphale had known Gabriel had the Archangel ever said he was a quick learner. He had, in fact, implied the exact opposite more times than Aziraphale could count. 

“We’ll go over your attitude some other time. The glare? That’s gotta go. Really not creating a positive work environment.” Gabriel pinched Aziraphale on the cheek, then gave him a couple gentle pats over the spot.

He pivoted briskly towards Crowley and his light, civilized demeanor fell away. Movements that were once smooth, almost lazy, were now stiff and powerful. He walked over to Crowley and lifted his chin with a single, curved digit. 

“I believe you were inviting me to fuck you instead, sweetheart?”

The collar shifted on Crowley’s neck as he swallowed, pensive. “Y-yes, master.”

Gabriel’s voice was mockingly sweet. “You need to say it properly, Crowley. Invite me to use your body…" he cast a brief glance over his shoulder at Aziraphale before giving Crowley a warning stare, tone derisive, "instead of  _ his _ .”

“Please don’t fuck Aziraphale. I am inviting you to use my body. Please…” 

Crowley shuddered; his eyes fell to the floor, squirming and fidgeting with his own arms under the scrutinizing watch of the Duke. He glanced at Aziraphale with apprehension, then took a deep breath and fixed his golden eyes back on Gabriel with resignation weighing heavy on his posture. 

“Fuck me instead, master.”

Aziraphale did not fully understand what he was witnessing. There was an odd specificity to the words that both Gabriel and Crowley were using.

_ Is this some kind of sick ritual?  _

“Works for me,” Gabriel said with an air of boredom that seemed too sudden to be entirely genuine and much more like the demon was hiding something. He released Crowley’s chin and snapped his fingers in Aziraphale’s direction. The chain above his head was released from the wall. Aziraphale rubbed his wrists where the pressure from the cuffs had caused an imprint on his skin. 

“Come here, sunshine.” Gabriel said the words in much the same way one might attempt to coax a frightened animal, but there was something sinister lurking just underneath that made Aziraphale's hairs stand on end.

_ Why? He was going to have Crowley watch from this distance... _

Aziraphale pulled his trousers up in order to prevent himself from tripping over them. He approached Gabriel and Crowley warily, worried about what Gabriel must have planned that required him to move closer. 

Crowley hung his head in defeat, drawn inward as he seemed to retreat into his own mind. Aziraphale could see the Crowley who had arrived alongside him from Heaven that first time swiftly returning - withdrawn, wracked with pain and confusion - and months of progress being undone with each step across the cell.

The Duke pointed at the floor nearby. Aziraphale moved to stand where directed. He wanted to button his shirt back up, but did not dare risk any actions that were not related to Gabriel’s demands.

Just as he reached the spot, Crowley groaned, then howled and hunched over himself. Gabriel was holding the remote up. It was difficult to see the display with Crowley writhing in obvious agony, but a glimpse of it let Aziraphale see the number was climbing, 07, 08, 09, then 10. It blinked several times on 10, as if indicating it wouldn’t go higher.

“Why?” Aziraphale turned a betrayed, panicked look to Gabriel. “We both did what you said!"

A snide huff of laughter from Gabriel was his only response.

Aziraphale took a step toward Crowley, one hand outreached. He knew if he could only reach the collar, he could turn it down. 

He could make it stop.

Gabriel surged forward and backhanded Aziraphale across the face before he could get near enough to help. 

The force of the blow made Aziraphale stumble backwards a few steps, momentarily dazed from the impact. He shook his head, then raised his eyes to see Gabriel looming between him and Crowley. 

The Duke scowled down at Aziraphale. He moved in closer before Aziraphale could stand fully upright again, an intimidating stride into Aziraphale's personal space that made him flinch and back up on instinct. 

"You do  _ not _ touch him without my permission, sunshine. Do you understand?" Gabriel growled out, low and thunderous.

Aziraphale nodded, and Gabriel gave him only enough space to straighten back up. He couldn't help taking a nervous glance behind Gabriel at Crowley, still tense from the torture of the collar.

Gabriel still glared at him expectantly, unmoving.

"Y-yes. I understand."

The satisfied sneer that spread across Gabriel's face was eerily close to so many he'd given Aziraphale during reprimands in Heaven.

It was far more fitting here in Hell.

Seeing that expression now under these circumstances made all the memories from Heaven feel so small in comparison. Aziraphale never thought he'd wish to go back to any of those moments but he did now.

Anything would be better than this living nightmare.

Gabriel leaned in and ran the back of one hand over Aziraphale's cheek, right where he'd been struck. The pressure brought the pain back to the surface as the demon spoke slowly, false sweetness coating every bitter word.

“And you are going to  _ continue _ to do  _ exactly _ as I say, or I will leave the collar on 10 until he discorporates. Then I’ll take a stroll down to Corporations… maybe have them make a few minor alterations for my own pleasure. Then I will slap the collar right back on him and we’ll try again with your obedience until we get it right, understood?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale responded promptly, his own mouth drawn into a tight, thin line.

The hand that was busy rubbing lazy circles into Aziraphale's face stilled, then heated up. As the warmth increased, Aziraphale felt the dull, throbbing ache that Gabriel's touch induced quickly subside. 

Gabriel patted him with a smile once the healing had finished. "That's it, sunshine. I knew you'd come around." He snapped and the handcuffs loosened, shifting colors to include white and gold along with the red and black they had been thus far. 

Aziraphale’s powers coursed through him, making him feel almost drunk for several seconds. He felt all of his senses readjust one by one. First, his sense of touch increased in sensitivity - he could feel every thread in his clothes briefly - before settling down to normal. He dismissed his senses of smell and taste as soon as he could; Hell had nothing pleasant to smell, nor taste. 

Space, movement, energy and time all made him nauseated momentarially, then were quickly overshadowed by the return of feeling his wings tucked safely away at his back. They were a reassuring warmth he hadn’t noticed was gone, but sensing them now calmed an anxiety within his very soul. 

He gained better control over his hearing in time to notice Gabriel growing impatient. He could hear Crowley whimpering, trying his best to be quiet, but Aziraphale forced himself to focus on Gabriel.

“Hey, sunshine? Pay attention.” 

Aziraphale shook his head and blinked; his sight finally came back into focus, clearer than before. When had he ended up kneeling on the floor next to Crowley? And when did Gabriel join them both there? He looked to the Duke, who gestured at a small bowl of water in front of them. 

“Bless it.”

Those words made alarm rise within Aziraphale. 

_ What does he want with holy water? _

He didn’t have any time to think about refusal, not with Crowley keening softly, looking up at him out of the corner of his eye. It was an expression Aziraphale had seen before, but never on his dear, dear Crowley. Mortally wounded humans and animals had given him that look before.

It pleaded for mercy, or swift death.

Neither of which Aziraphale was in the position to give. But if he complied with Gabriel’s orders, perhaps the collar would be turned off. He held his hand over the bowl, closed his eyes, and focused, blessing the water as quickly as he was able to.

Aziraphale wanted to toss the bowl on Gabriel, but he had wisely chosen to kneel with Crowley placed between them. The amount of water likely wouldn’t have done more than injure, anyways, and that would hardly help their situation. He returned his hands to his lap once finished. The chain between dragged across the stone, a loud, irritating thing that echoed in the confines of the cell.

Gabriel snapped, and the cuffs shrunk in size, relocking on his wrists and losing all traces of white and gold once secured. Aziraphale’s taste and smell returned without him being in possession of powers to restrain them, and his other senses shrunk back down or faded away, leaving him powerless and nearly human yet again. He couldn’t help groaning at the changes. 

Thankfully, regaining senses was far more disorienting than losing them. Waking up from the time stop to an entirely different set of senses had been confusing, but mostly due to lack of information and suddenness. Seeing the cuffs shift and lock gave Aziraphale just enough time to know what was about to happen and brace himself, although it certainly was not pleasant. 

Another snap echoed through the small space and Aziraphale saw the chain between his wrists split in two. Each one jerked his arms backward, the force almost pulled Aziraphale onto his back. The lengths weren't long enough to allow him to stand. Aziraphale was trapped on his knees in front of Gabriel and Crowley, and with his arms pulled taut behind him, he couldn't reach out to comfort his dear demon. Not that Gabriel would have allowed him to do so. 

Having the temptation to reach out removed from him may have been more of a blessing than Aziraphale wanted to admit. He doubted such a request would ever be granted, especially while bound.

Gabriel began repositioning Crowley, still convulsing from the torture of the collar, brushing a thumb over his entrance in a way that might have been teasing. 

_ No, not like this. You can’t just leave the collar on and... _

"Please, I did what you asked! Turn it off. You don't need to hurt him," Aziraphale implored, his voice strained with fear that Gabriel would leave the collar on simply to torture them both.

Gabriel first reached forward and moved the bowl of water out of the way, behind himself. He placed a hand on the collar, shifting the dial. Crowley visibly relaxed, breathed a heavy sigh of relief and slumped forward on the ground as Gabriel turned the collar back down to 01. For a moment, the Duke appeared lost in thought. He ran his hand through Crowley's hair, his voice musing and light. 

"No, I suppose I  _ don't _ need to hurt him."

He smiled down at Crowley, who did nothing to resist the affectionate touch. Aziraphale didn't see Crowley tense up at all - he just lay limp on the floor, silently resigned to his fate. Gabriel tilted Crowley's head so he could dry tears that had fallen. Aziraphale hadn't even realized they were there; Crowley's face had been shrouded by his hair, probably to hide the fact that he had been crying at all. Gabriel laughed softly, knowingly, then let Crowley look back towards the stone as he locked eyes with Aziraphale. His violet gaze was calm. There was a sense of contentment and understanding when he spoke. 

"But then,  _ you don't need to eat _ , do you, Aziraphale? Yet, how often do you indulge in  _ that _ ?"

Aziraphale stared at Gabriel, completely and utterly mortified at the comparison. “That’s...” Words failed him, his mouth hung open in dismay. He looked down at Crowley, who remained looking away from Aziraphale, eerily still... silent... submissive.

All things his dear Crowley had just begun to shed, now back in full force as if he had never spent a single day away from Gabriel.

"It goes right back up to 10 if you disobey me.  _ Say a single word more, _ and it gets turned up." Gabriel raised the remote, threateningly. Aziraphale snapped his mouth shut, fixing the demon with a glare that was nowhere near close to his level of repulsion, the seething outrage within. 

Gabriel nodded, setting the remote down within reach. With careless, rough motions the Duke grabbed and maneuvered Crowley on to his hands and knees. He wasted no time preparing Crowley, using one finger and all too quickly adding another. Gabriel paid Aziraphale no mind; his violet eyes were positively drinking in every shift of Crowley’s form.

It was an expression Aziraphale had to imagine had been eerily similar to one in his own eyes when looking at Crowley - only devoid of love, replaced with possession.

Gabriel had seemed to like or at the very least appreciate the value of certain activities in the past. The Archangel had frequented Earth for jogs, or shopped for custom tailored clothing throughout the millennia. He had never seemed to truly  _ enjoy _ anything. 

Not like this.

Aziraphale watched in quiet horror as Gabriel vanished his own clothes away, revealing a not yet fully erect, but still obscenely large prick. The Duke gazed down at Crowley, his violet eyes half-lidded as he stroked himself in one hand while letting the other pinch and grasp Crowley's body as if the other demon was something to be moulded by his desires.

_ As if by ferocity of conviction alone, he could make Crowley his. _

Crowley's docile behavior was every bit as disturbing as Gabriel’s. His breathing was deep, but even. He reacted very little to Gabriel's attentions to his body. An occasional hitched breath was the only indication he was mentally present at all. Aziraphale hated how passive, how nearly relaxed Crowley appeared, even though he knew resistance wouldn't gain either of them anything but worse treatment.

_ Crowley asked for this… to spare me. Lord knows how often he suffered this or worse to keep us safe. Oh, Crowley… I wish you'd let me take the burden for you. You've already been through too much. This isn't fair. _

Gabriel had spent thousands of years making Aziraphale stammer and stutter in frustration or nervousness. He had made Aziraphale feel useless and worthless to Heaven. None of those moments came even remotely close to the feeling of being powerless and hopeless to protect Crowley as Gabriel removed his fingers, lined himself up and pushed forward, thrusting inside in one agonisingly slow, unrelenting movement. Crowley made a soft, muffled sound of discomfort and attempted to shift away only to be held fast by a brutal grip on his hips.

Aziraphale closed his eyes before Gabriel was done. He couldn’t stand to witness this. Even the sounds alone were terrible. Gabriel’s satisfied, smug breaths overlapped with Crowley’s pained, humiliated whimpers.

“Hey!” Gabriel barked. “I went through all the trouble of getting you a front row seat and you won’t even watch the show?”

_ The only front row seat I want nothing to do with. _

“That’s an  _ order,  _ sunshine. Open your eyes.”

He obeyed, a single tear running down his cheek. Aziraphale brushed as much of the damp line from his face into his shoulder as he could and forced himself to keep his composure. He refused to give Gabriel further satisfaction, or cause Crowley to feel worse.

Crowley had slumped from supporting himself on his hands, to supporting his front on his elbows. He hung his head, trying to hide his face in a shoulder, but was struggling to keep his composure under the assault. Crowley clawed at the stone and closed his eyes. His jaw alternated between tightly clenched in pain and open wide, gasping for breath. 

"Oh, Crowley… sweetheart… I have  _ missed _ this." 

Gabriel ran his hands possessively over Crowley’s body, occasionally pinching or raking his nails, leaving red marks in their wake. The pace of Gabriel’s thrusts was slow and steady. Aziraphale found himself torn at the idea; he wanted Gabriel to hurry up and finish, but he knew a quicker pace with so little preparation and attention given to Crowley’s comfort could result in more damage.

Damage Aziraphale couldn’t heal with the cuffs on, and was doubtful that Gabriel would do anything about.

“Who do you belong to, Crowley?” His voice was warm, encouraging and patient. 

It took Crowley a few seconds to reply. He sounded strained, broken up as if holding back tears. “You. I belong to you, master.”

“What belongs to me? Just your body? Tell me, Crowley.” 

Gabriel leaned over Crowley, his bare chest pressing against Crowley’s back. It might have been tender if not for the cruel possessiveness of it.

“I am all yours, master. My body is yours. Every part... is yours.“ Although his voice was weary, Crowley spoke his words freely.

“You belong to  _ me _ , forever.” Gabriel raised his gaze from Crowley and locked eyes with Aziraphale, challenging and savage. His tone hardened. “Never anyone else. You have  _ always _ been mine.”

“Everything I am is yours forever, master. Always yours.” There was a hollow, emotionless cadence to Crowley's delivery, as if the words were being spoken  _ through _ Crowley, rather than by him. Aziraphale had heard downtrodden staff in restaurants repeat orders in much the same way.

Gabriel’s voice had a streak of annoyance blooming within it. “ _ Never _ anyone else.”

Crowley hesitated. “N-never anyone else.”

Gabriel grabbed Crowley by the hair, forcing his head back to look up at Aziraphale. He snarled into Crowley’s ear. “Open your eyes and tell  _ him _ that.”

“Please, master.” Crowley kept his eyes closed. "This wasn't-"

“Do it.” The words were a low growl.

Golden eyes opened up, sorrowful and heart-rending. Tears streaked his face as he looked at Aziraphale, looking so very much like his heart was collapsing. Aziraphale knew his own certainly felt as such. 

“Never anyone else.” 

_ I know it's not true, darling. It's alright. _

Aziraphale deeply wished he could tell Crowley. He attempted to at least give a rueful smile, but felt his own face twisted in a mix of emotions.

Gabriel let go of Crowley’s hair and allowed his head to fall. His hand encircled Crowley’s cock instead, and began pumping slowly, insistently. After a minute or two he exhaled a frustrated breath. 

“Gonna have to work with me here, sweetheart. You know you need to enjoy yourself, too.”

_ No. He absolutely does not. How could he ever be expected to  _ enjoy _ this? _

“I’m sorry, master. I can’t. I don’t know if I-”

“Shhh. It’s fine. I understand what’s going on. I’ll help you.” Gabriel grabbed Crowley by the hair and knelt upright, pulling the other demon up with him. The viciousness of the action was a heavy contrast to his voice, soothing and placating. “Hands behind your back, sweetheart.”

Crowley obeyed and crossed his arms behind himself, each hand gripping just above the elbow of the opposite arm. The Duke snapped his fingers to bind Crowley’s wrists with metal cuffs and chains. He snapped again, and Aziraphale felt the chains holding his own arms to the floor become latched together behind his back. Gabriel looked at Aziraphale with an almost playful upward curve to the corners of his mouth. 

“Come send him off properly, sunshine.”

Aziraphale gave Gabriel a confused look.

Gabriel rolled his eyes impatiently, his tone chiding. “Come  _ here _ .”

Aziraphale shuffled forward on his knees, only to find a hand grip his blonde curls and his face abruptly shoved down, directly into Crowley’s groin. Aziraphale managed to tilt his head enough to look up and saw Crowley’s eyes wide, stricken with panic. 

Gabriel leered down over Crowley's shoulder with a snide curve on his lips. He hummed in amusement; his tone light and matter of fact. “If you can’t get it up with your boyfriend watching, that’s fine, Crowley, but it means he’s going to have to help.” He gave a single thrust, pressing Crowley’s cock against Aziraphale’s face to punctuate his point.

“I- you don’t have to. I-I’ll be good. I don’t need him to- I'll try harder. Please, master.” Crowley tried to twist away, but with one of Gabriel's hands in his hair and the other pressing Aziraphale into his crotch - and Gabriel penetrating him from behind - there was no movement he could have possibly made that didn’t make his situation worse. Crowley glanced frantically down at Aziraphale; he fell dreadfully still and pleaded, voice rough from weeping. “Aziraphale, please don’t-”

“Suck him, Aziraphale.” 

Gabriel fixed Aziraphale with a deathly cold stare. The words were blunt and unforgiving, promising consequences if the angel chose to disobey. The Duke broke eye contact only to look at the remote on the ground near his knee, then back at Aziraphale, one brow raised in question.

Aziraphale refused to be the reason Crowley was in pain. He obeyed the command and took Crowley into his mouth. He had done this so many times before - it was one of his favorite things to do  _ for _ Crowley - but this time was unlike any of those times. This time he was doing it  _ to _ Crowley, against his dear demon's wishes and will. Gabriel did nothing to silence Crowley's pleas toward Aziraphale. 

Words that Crowley had once needed active coaxing to be willing to express to Aziraphale, the demon now said freely, desperately, and Aziraphale could do nothing but continue his forced assault. It made him no better than Gabriel.

"No, Aziraphale… pleasse… sstop. Don't do thiss."

_ Please don't hiss at me, dear. You know I wouldn't do this if there was a better choice. Please... know that.  _

Eventually, Crowley began to harden against Aziraphale's tongue. Crowley’s begging subsided, soon replaced with hauntingly familiar gasps and groans of pleasure. Aziraphale knew exactly how to satisfy Crowley and wasn’t holding back; the only form of mercy he could give his dear demon was that of a quick release. 

“Damn, Aziraphale. You must know what you’re doing. He’s never felt this good.”

He tried to imagine the hand in his hair was Crowley. He knew it wasn’t; Crowley was gentle - he spoke in subtle hair tugs or yearning touches. Crowley would never hold his head in place so brutally. 

Aziraphale felt violated by Gabriel. It  _ was _ Crowley in his mouth; the delightful musky scent, the slight salty, alluring taste was all his beloved demon, but the motions left Aziraphale with the sensation it was Gabriel instead. The thrusts into Crowley’s body only shoved his erection down Aziraphale’s throat, careless and greedy in a way Crowley had never treated him. Closing his eyes only made Gabriel’s movements more difficult to ignore - sticky wet noises rung loudly in Aziraphale’s ears.

It was difficult not to feel ill as Crowley climaxed, releasing with a keening whine and quivering thighs. Aziraphale had never wished to remove the taste of Crowley from his mouth before, but now with his powers bound he could do nothing but swallow and wish he had something, anything at all to wash it down.

Gabriel shoved Aziraphale away as soon as Crowley was finished, then pushed Crowley forward and into the ground, his hand still in Crowley’s hair. He made sure Crowley’s face was pointed towards Aziraphale despite Crowley’s clear attempts to look away. 

Those golden eyes met his, wounded and betrayed for a few harrowing breaths, before fluttering shut once more as Gabriel increased his pace. 

Gabriel’s own orgasm was thankfully not far off. The harsh lines of the Duke’s face softened in rapture as he neared the edge. He collapsed over Crowley, his free hand roaming possessively until he pushed himself upright. Aziraphale saw streaks of red mixed with spend as Gabriel withdrew and he tried desperately to push the image from his mind.

_ This isn’t as bad as the leather. It’s bad, but Crowley is strong. It’s over now. Hopefully Crowley can rest, and we’ll find some way out of this. _

Gabriel snapped his own clothes back on and knelt on the other side of the bound demon, one hand petting Crowley’s thigh and the other holding one of his upper arms. Both hands massaged small circles into Crowley’s flesh along the muscle, soothing away tension there. Gabriel sounded relaxed, at ease.

“Now, sweetheart... look him in the eyes. Tell him you want to belong to only me now. Beg him to make you belong to me.”

_ What? Make him…?  _

Crowley did not hesitate to obey, his resistance worn out. The words were spoken solemnly as shame colored his face. 

“I want to belong to my master now. Please… make me belong to him.” 

Horror seemed to dawn on Crowley, his eyes went wide and unfocused, staring off into the distance in disbelief once he'd uttered the words. Gabriel gave Crowley long strokes through his hair, down his neck and back. 

“Very good, slave. Now stay still.” 

He reached behind himself to pick up the bowl of holy water. A tiny metal bowl had never made such a deafening sound before this one was placed on the stone floor between Aziraphale and Crowley.

Fingers snapped again to release Aziraphale’s right hand from the chain, the entire length now dangled from the left cuff. Gabriel briefly jabbed a finger into Crowley’s lower back. 

“Put it back.”

_ Put it back?  _

Aziraphale frowned down at Crowley, body limp against the stone floor, will shattered. The demon's only movement was a gentle breath, fear stricken and stuttering from shed tears. Aziraphale couldn't keep his eyes there long; he allowed his gaze to fall to the metal bowl, vision unfocused from sheer denial.

He felt his mouth fall open, but no words would form. He closed it, swallowed to relieve tension there. Aziraphale slowly shook his head, disbelieving.

_ He can't possibly expect me to- _

Gabriel let out an exasperated sigh, tone insulting, annoyed at having to spell it out. "My mark. The one you so rudely presumed to remove. You're going to put it back now."

_ He does. _

The silence after the order was overwhelming. Aziraphale could have been convinced that time was stopped.

Perhaps it was, beyond this cell - even the hum of the lights above seemed to halt for several long moments; as if they could sense the tension in the air and didn't wish to intrude.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest. Gabriel raised a single brow and shifted one hand to rest on the collar dial. 

Crowley tensed and gasped out, "Please…"

It did not matter who Crowley was speaking to. Aziraphale snapped his jaw closed. Gabriel's hand went back to idly running through Crowley's hair, and Crowley breathed out a long sigh of relief.

“You may need to kneel between his legs for a better angle.” Gabriel supplied, helpfully. “And pin his thighs down with your knees. He wasn’t able to keep himself from struggling the first time.” He gave Aziraphale a smile, pleasantly reminiscent. 

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley with devastation shattering his soul. Forlorn, golden eyes searched Aziraphale’s own, looking for comfort, or reassurance, something to hold on to. Crowley’s hands flexed and gripped onto his own arms, still bound behind him.

There was no comfort Aziraphale could give and he loathed it. With a shuddered exhale - another breath Aziraphale had no idea how long he’d held - he did as Gabriel suggested, and shifted to kneel on top of Crowley’s legs.

_ "I wouldn’t ever do anything that I believed would harm you, Crowley. As long as you are with me, you are safe." _

They'd be lies, soon. The words he had once spoken to calm Crowley, to convince his dear demon that he was safe with Aziraphale. To coax Crowley into allowing this exact scar to be removed…

He was going to cause it this time. Aziraphale dipped a single finger into the bowl. Gabriel shifted up more toward Crowley’s head as Aziraphale began writing. The stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils, an awful pairing with the familiar taste of Crowley still on his lips.

Aziraphale was using every ounce of his self-control to not fall apart. Gabriel kept speaking kind words to Crowley as he tried to hold still that did not help things in the slightest.

“Shh. It’s okay. You’ll be all mine soon.” A stroke down each arm. “You offered this, sweetheart.” A gentle squeeze of each hand. "Relax. You already know pleasing me hurts, sometimes."

When Aziraphale finished writing the three symbols the mark still did not look exactly the same as the one he had healed, despite all his attempts to replicate it. The color was uniform, when the one he had healed definitely had Gabriel’s name far darker than Crowley’s, and the word for slave had been a shade between the two names. 

Aziraphale frowned, but looked up at Gabriel, hopeful his task was complete. 

“Good so far. Trace slave once more. My name twice.” 

The order made Crowley struggle further. Gabriel gave a soft laugh. “You are making more of a fuss than when I did it… I know you prefer me, sweetheart, but there are better ways for you to show it, you know.”

Gabriel helped hold Crowley down as he whined and wept openly. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s legs flexing under his knees. One foot kicked into the stone behind Aziraphale each time he reached over for more holy water, hitting the ground with a sickening smack.

_ Trying to distract himself with something worse. Something that  _ I’m _ not doing to him. _

Finally, Aziraphale finished recreating the mark. Crowley was drawing in deep breaths, pupils blown wide from the pain. Gabriel began stroking his hair with longing, approval clear on his features. Crowley looked so very lost, withdrawn as tears flowed down his face. 

_ “Angel, I can’t go through having it put back. Please, just leave it." _

_ I had no idea, Crowley… if I had known… I'm so sorry. _

Gabriel snapped his fingers and Aziraphale’s cuffs reattached to the floor by short lengths of chain. He hauled Crowley to his feet by his armpits and kicked away the bowl of holy water into the corner. The splashes sizzled and evaporated away as it made contact with the stone of the cell. 

Crowley was barely able to stand. His right knee was slightly bent, barely taking on his weight and trembling the few times he dared to do so. His body was tense despite the worst of the pain being over; Aziraphale noticed then that the collar read 08.

He had flashbacks to Crowley flailing miserably on the sofa in the bookshop, just after kicking him in the shoulder. 

_ You were startled then, but this time… You did the only thing you could to try and  _ not _ feel what I was doing to you… and you were already in so much pain that I didn’t even notice it.  _

Gabriel ran his hand over the mark in admiration, pretending to not notice the suffering that the collar was causing. Crowley shivered at the contact, a terrified panic in his eyes. 

“Very fine work, Aziraphale! I should have guessed your penmanship would only make for an even more stunning final product.” Violet eyes regarded him with appreciation. “I should thank you personally for this wonderful opportunity for improvement, but I’m afraid there  _ is _ work to be done. Can’t have fun all day. Sloth and lust are only two sins, after all.”

He bent down and picked up the remote from the ground, repocketing it. “You did far better shutting your mouth than  _ he _ ever has, too. I have to hand it to you, sunshine. I like you  _ way _ better like this. But, next time, you are free to speak.” 

The eagle swooped down and landed on Crowley’s shoulder as Gabriel secured a grasp on his arm. Crowley squeezed his eyes closed and looked away from the bird as it sunk its talons into his flesh with ease. Aziraphale knew what the punctures and tears in his shirt were from, now, and rather wished he didn’t.

Aziraphale flinched as a final snap echoed within the cell, taking with it both Gabriel and Crowley, and all opportunity to apologize to Crowley for how wrong, how selfish he'd been. There was no way to know if he'd ever be given the chance to speak to Crowley again. The thought of potentially only seeing Crowley like this, tortured and then whisked away each time… Aziraphale curled up on the cold stone and allowed himself to finally weep openly.

"How are we supposed to survive this?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I really appreciate all the comments and feedback so much!
> 
> Chapter 7 will arrive on December 16th! Also, any [Descent Into Perdition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096/chapters/57425635) fans should look forward to a special holiday DiPmas gift in the form of a short story on the 23rd! December is set to be a big update month!
> 
> [The Repossessed](https://discord.gg/nHNHAyyqBy) is a Discord server for all of us Repoverse, Descent Into Perdition and other dark GO fans out there to collect, share fic recommendations, chat, stream artwork creation, and hang out! We've had a movie night recently, and a few live readings as well! We are an entirely 18+, choose to warn server, so fans of dark works can speak freely about their ideas. 
> 
> We are very much hoping you'll join us in creating a little community! If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me on Discord. (Or via any of the contact methods listed on my profile) I'm Latromi #9997.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you for all the wonderful support and comments on chapter 6! Sorry I haven't responded to them yet! Normally I respond on the off Wednesday, but I had a 3 hour long allergy appointment last Wednesday and so much of the last week has been busy! I'll be doing that tonight for sure! 
> 
> It's December 16th! I hope you are all ready for chapter 7!
> 
> Another big thank you, as always, to [DreamsofSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsofSpike) and [Dacelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin) for support, beta work, and feedback! And thank you once again to [Mevima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima) for reaching out after chapter 6 went live to let me know of some minor typos/errors!
> 
> Special shoutout to The Repossessed Discord server! You guys really are the absolute best!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings for this chapter.

_ Crowley was in limbo. _

_ Limbo, as a place in Hell, had never really existed the way humans believed it did, but  _ this _?  _ This _ was limbo. Crowley paced the bookshelves of the shop, avoiding all the floorboards he knew would creak or groan under his weight without an ounce of thought given to the motions. _

_ He was no longer in Heaven, but doomed to go back. _

_ The reassurance that he would be returning to Heaven under Aziraphale’s wing wasn’t as comforting now as it had been before his nap, either. For the first time ever, Crowley was awake and his angel was asleep. _

_ And Gabriel's mark was gone.  _

_ Crowley reached around and touched where it had been. _

_ His fingers brushed across clear, smooth skin that Crowley simultaneously wished was marred once more and that he could enjoy its absence.  _

_ Removing it hadn’t been painful; a quick burst of warmth over the spot was all he had felt. And it hadn’t instantly summoned Gabriel to strike them down as he'd feared. Still, the worry of the suffering he'd surely endure for allowing Aziraphale to remove the scar left Crowley exhausted; sleep hadn't been far off after the mark was healed. _

_ Crowley had awakened from his nap to find Aziraphale snoring lightly. His angel appeared positively knackered, slack and completely drained.  _

_ Despite yearning to sleep longer still, nightmares and racing thoughts kept Crowley from returning to peaceful rest. He tried more than once. His mind wouldn’t let him fall back asleep now; at least he finally felt mostly refreshed.  _

_ After several hours spent in anxious thought, Crowley left the bed and knelt beside it; he didn’t want his movements to awaken the sleeping angel.  _

_ Aziraphale never slept. At most, he dozed or napped, but it was never a very deep sleep, and he never slept longer than Crowley. It was deeply worrying that Aziraphale remained unconscious, and that worry only grew as time stretched on. He wondered briefly if Aziraphale had ever worried about him while he slept in the past. _

At least he knows I  _ like _ sleeping. I’ve got no bloody idea  _ what _ this is. 

_ Every angle that Crowley examined this new behavior from seemed like something he should be concerned about. As if he needed more things to add to that list. _

_ He knelt on the floor next to the bed for some time, but his body and mind were restless with worry. It felt  _ wrong _ to be kneeling in a space he used to consider his own just as much as his flat. _

It’s Aziraphale. He loves you. He doesn’t  _ own _ you. And he didn't  _ say _ not to leave the bedroom… Maybe… it’s okay to...

_ Crowley warily rose to his feet. As he expected, there was no swift punishment that followed, although he still winced in anticipation. He cast a furtive glance over to Aziraphale as he reached the doorway to the bedroom. Leaving his angel’s side was the last thing he really  _ wanted _ to do, but staying was beginning to fill him with dread.  _

Gabriel will be furious if he shows up and I’m in here, so close to  _ him _ . I don’t  _ belong _ here, watching Aziraphale sleep. 

He’s too vulnerable. He knows I can’t-

Knows I _wouldn’t_ harm him, but it still feels wrong. Gabriel never let me into his personal spaces, just his office. I’m too close. 

_ Crowley looked between Aziraphale and down the hall anxiously, his heart racing wildly in his chest. Leaving the bedroom felt wrong too. _

_ He wanted to wake Aziraphale up so he wasn’t alone - he was so tired of being alone - but there was no way he had the courage to do  _ that.

_ No, it was best to wait for Aziraphale downstairs. He wouldn’t accidentally wake the angel from the bottom floor, and the bookshop was Aziraphale’s workplace. That was where Crowley knew he should be. Crowley knew the sounds of the shop well enough that he could be on his knees well before Aziraphale even reached the stairwell, and pace off his nervous energy in the meantime. Crowley wondered what else had changed during his absence as he padded down the steps.  _

_ He found the bookshop mostly how he remembered it - barely organized chaos thinly veiled with dust, the only exception being Aziraphale’s office. It was filled with books containing various forms of human magic. Crowley was sure there was  _ some _ form of organization to the dozens of stacks here, but that mystery would be known uniquely to Aziraphale. From the books scattered across his desk, it appeared the angel had been looking into summoning or locating demons before he was invited up to Heaven. _

_ Aziraphale had been looking for him. _

Obviously... he loves you… regardless of whether you really deserve it or not.

_ It was painful to think about. Crowley had spent so much time imagining that Aziraphale would be okay without him. He had to be in order for all of Crowley’s suffering to be worth it, didn’t he? Seeing evidence to the contrary made Crowley's heart sink with conflict. _

_ The sofa that Crowley normally enjoyed looked as inviting as always. He sat down, but couldn't relax. It was too plush, too warm. It didn't feel like a space he should be occupying - not anymore, anyways.  _

_ It felt wrong being in there at all, without Aziraphale.  _

_ Crowley left the office, not wanting to stare down reality or open his mind for deeper reflection on Aziraphale's time without him while the angel wasn't awake to talk about it. _

_ He honestly wasn't sure if he  _ wanted  _ Aziraphale to talk about it. _

_ After several more hours of pacing, Aziraphale was still fast asleep. Crowley itched to care for his plants, or watch telly, to drive the Bentley, or go to the movies. Anything at all would have been helpful to pass the time. He wished he had his cell, but he’d have to go back to his flat to uncloak it safely - moving objects that were placed between realities had never worked out well for him in the past. He couldn’t teleport with the collar on, and Aziraphale’s ancient computer was the newest technology he owned.  _

_ If that sad plastic box could connect to the internet, it was only due to miracle powered wishful thinking. And Crowley didn’t think he had the energy to keep a match lit underwater for fifteen minutes, let alone speed up and modernize the fossilized machine to today’s standards. Connecting it to the internet as well? Not likely he’d be able to manage it very long. _

_ It was tempting to try anyway. Passing out from exhaustion just before he was able to load a Yahoo! search or play a round of solitaire had to be better than what he was doing now - pacing like an animal in a zoo. _

_ He  _ was _ surrounded by books, which he had dabbled in over the years with limited success. His ability to enjoy reading was hampered by his inability to turn his brain off. Books never engaged him well enough to pause the part of his brain that wouldn’t stop worrying about things. That part of his brain used to keep mostly to itself, only whispering to him when work got overbearing or when he believed Aziraphale was upset with him.  _

_ Right now? That part of his brain had rented the Royal Albert Hall and filled it with every speaker currently available for purchase in all of London. And no matter how hard he tried to leave the theatre, he couldn't - he was locked in. The speakers were screeching at him that he wasn’t safe and there wasn't a single bloody thing he could do about it.  _

_ Gabriel would be back and it would not be pretty when he found out from Michael that she had decided  _ Aziraphale _ was the best candidate to fix Crowley after he had completely and utterly ceased to function.  _

They should have just left you where he told you to stay. They never should have brought Aziraphale into this. Aziraphale should have left you in Heaven. 

Maybe he should  _ give you back _ to Heaven.

Aziraphale would never do that… even if it  _ would  _ be safest for him. If my wings weren’t stuck out, I could try to go back now, while he’s asleep.

_ That was a surefire way to never see Aziraphale again. Heaven would never trust the angel to watch over Crowley if he escaped, he knew that for certain. _

_ And even though he wanted Aziraphale safe, deep down Crowley had to admit he wanted to be safe  _ with _ Aziraphale. _

No matter how doomed that may be to fail. Even though I’m definitely not worth the risk… 

_ Crowley was stuck between the two most stubborn, determined forces in all of Heaven. Neither angel would be willing to let Crowley go and only one of them could possibly win. _

_ His hand moved to feel the healed skin on his lower back; the absence of his master’s ownership simultaneously filled Crowley with as much relief as dread.  _

When he does win, he’s going to  _ destroy _ Aziraphale for this.

_ He didn't want to think about that, either. _

_ He needed a distraction.  _

_ Crowley turned a corner and his wing clipped a stack of books at the end of one of the shelves, nearly pulling the whole tower down. He pushed it back upright and looked at the book on the top - a large cookbook.  _

_ He paused, slowly blinking before staring at it for several long seconds. _

_ Then he took the book off the top of the stack and made his way to the kitchen.  _

  
  


_ A myriad of pleasant aromas gently pulled Aziraphale from his slumber. He breathed in deeply. There was fresh bread and bacon, mushrooms, chicken, but a hint of sweetness lingered in the air as well. It had been so long since he’d had  _ anything _ to eat. How  _ delightful _ , how  _ lovely  _ it would be to sit down with Crowley and- _

_ Crowley! _

_ Aziraphale’s eyes flew open and scanned the bedroom. The demon was nowhere to be seen. He leapt from bed and followed the alluring scents to the kitchen. What he saw made Aziraphale rub his eyes and blink rapidly. _

Surely I must still be dreaming.

_ Crowley was standing stark naked, save for an apron, in the kitchen, bent over a tray of what appeared to be blueberry scones. He was drizzling a glaze over the top of them with hyper-focused attention, careful not to create a mess as he worked. There was a pot containing what appeared to be a broth-based soup simmering on the stove. Two loaves of bread were sealed away in bags on the counter. A red timer was displayed on the oven, eight minutes remaining. _

_ Open in front of Crowley on a bookstand in the corner of the kitchen was a baking recipe book. Two other volumes that had  _ not _ been in the kitchen last time Aziraphale had been there were leaned against the wall. Not only was Crowley creating food, but clearly the demon had been over to the cooking section of the bookstore. _

_ Aziraphale waited patiently for Crowley to finish, not wanting to startle him.  _

_ “Crowley?” _

_ Crowley still jumped slightly, nearly knocking the icing bowl off the counter as he spun around to face Aziraphale. He looked like he’d just been caught mid-crime, uncertain where he should be or what he should be doing. His knees shook as he looked down at the floor. Fingers gripped the apron in front of him, as if torn between leaving it on or removing it. Golden eyes looked around the kitchen with a mix of nervousness and shame before looking at him, but no higher than chest level. _

_ Aziraphale gave a warm smile and tried to send out feelings of reassurance. “Good morning, dear. You’ve been busy, I see.”  _

_ Frightened features slowly relaxed into a shy smile in return. _

_ “Morning, Angel.”  _

_ Crowley glanced at the timer on the oven, then went over to the fridge and pulled out a plate of crêpes. Crowley held them out with a wry look. He spoke with a nervous rush to his words. _

_ “I made you crêpes. I didn’t know if you’d want sweet or savory, so I made fillings for both... Or I pre-cooked some bacon for omelettes. Or there’s-” _

_ “Crowley, dear… please, slow down.” Aziraphale accepted the plate, but placed it aside before stepping closer to embrace Crowley. The demon took a moment to relax in his arms before tentatively returning the gesture. _

_ “Sorry. Did you have a good rest?” There was a pause; Crowley’s voice dropped to a concerned whisper. “When did you start sleeping, Angel?” _

_ Aziraphale couldn't help but let out a huff of laughter in disbelief. His tone was light and playful. “And when did you become a chef? Or baker?” He backed up and took a seat at the kitchen table. _

_ “You were asleep… and I…” Crowley frowned and wrapped his arms around himself, unsure. His eyes fell to the floor and knees trembled slightly. “My mind wouldn’t… So I thought…” _

_ “My dear, I am  _ not _ upset.” Aziraphale reached out and took one of Crowley’s hands in his own gently. “I apologize. I was merely surprised. I didn’t mean to imply that I might be unhappy. Quite the opposite! It all smells rather lovely.” _

_ Before Crowley was able to respond, Aziraphale’s stomach rumbled loudly enough that he was sure they both heard the interruption. They shared a silent exchange of knowing looks. Crowley's gaze was hopeful, eager to have Aziraphale try some of his creations, no doubt. And if Crowley had spent all this time and he  _ knew _ Aziraphale was hungry, then it  _ would  _ be rude to refuse. _

_ Not that he would ever dream of refusing such generosity from his dear demon. _

_ “Perhaps food isn’t a terrible idea before we make plans to head up.” Aziraphale glanced around the kitchen, unsure where to start.  _

_ Crowley had been busy.  _

_ Crowley relaxed and went back to the fridge for two bowls. Just as promised, one was savory and comprised mostly of mushrooms, cabbage, and meat, while the other was sweet and appeared to contain mostly fruit. _

_ “Two savory and one sweet, dear? They both look wonderful.” _

_ “Of course, angel.” Crowley quickly put together a fruit crêpe, he placed it in front of Aziraphale. He took a bite and hummed his approval as he chewed.  _

_ “Oh, Crowley, this is delightful!” They exchanged smiles over the praise before Crowley turned to the stove. Aziraphale thought about offering to miracle his selections to his preferred temperature, but Crowley cared for his plants mostly the human way. He wondered if maybe this was similar, and didn’t want to remove effort that might result in Crowley feeling proud of his work. While Crowley began reheating Aziraphale’s savory crêpes, he ventured a question. “Why cooking, dear?” _

_ Crowley’s wings pulled in tighter to his back, an automatic response Aziraphale was learning meant the demon was at the very least concerned. _

_ “I saw a cookbook in the shop. You like food, and I needed a distraction.” Crowley’s voice started off deflecting before he paused and he resumed with a haunted, anxious whisper. “You were asleep, and I didn’t know what to do. You didn’t give me any orde- instructions. Following recipes has been… helpful.” _

Not at all like his plants then. Following what he believed to be Gabriel’s orders calmed him down when we first returned from Heaven, too.

_ It was entirely understandable, but Aziraphale found trouble in swallowing his current mouthful of food regardless. _

_ There was a tension in the air, as if Crowley believed Aziraphale might be mad at Crowley seeking out stability in something such as this. Aziraphale was determined to not let his concerns show; he kept his tone light. _

_ “How did you get fresh ingredients?” _

_ “The milk was the only big miracle, really.” Crowley shrugged. “Yours couldn’t be saved, so I shifted water instead. Had to nap after that one for a bit. Took a lot out of me. The meat was all in your freezer. Had to remove some freezer burn off one or two things, duplicate some stuff, nothing major. I chose recipes that were mostly staples.” There was a nervous air to Crowley’s words. He spoke just a little too fast. _

_ “Oh. The manual seemed to indicate temptations were blocked. I assumed you couldn’t perform any miracles at all either, with it on.” Aziraphale gestured to the collar and swept a hand down to indicate Crowley’s lack of attire. _

_ “Temptations? No. But miracles? Yeah, I can. If they aren’t harmful. It’s draining though…” Crowley shrugged again, clearly unconcerned by wearing only an apron and not quite seeing Aziraphale’s point. _

_ The timer on the stove sounded out. Crowley pulled on oven mitts and pulled out a beautiful looking cottage pie. While Crowley was occupied, Aziraphale looked around the kitchen and marvelled as he ate. When he cooked for himself, he miracled the ingredients together. He had all the tools to create food the human way if he desired the results of a manual meal, but he rarely went through the effort of it. Even then, he could miracle the kitchen spotless afterward. Crowley had limited access to his powers, so he had to do  _ everything _ manually, including cleaning. He must have been working nonstop while Aziraphale slept. _

_ “Did you want me to miracle something up for you to wear? You did mention it yesterday and I never got around to it by the time you fell asleep again.” Aziraphale asked once Crowley closed the oven. _

_ Crowley paused. “Yeah, that’d be nice, Angel. Nothing fancy, go for comfort, yeah?” _

_ “Of course, dear.” Aziraphale rose from his seat as he finished the dessert crêpe. He snapped a simple black button up shirt and black trousers into existence as he neared Crowley. Aziraphale made sure the shirt back would ignore Crowley’s wings with an extra wave of his hand over the cloth. As the demon took the clothing from him and dressed himself, Aziraphale couldn’t help looking over the many varied meals Crowley had created. _

_ “Blueberry scones… fruit and savory crêpes… You’ve made a soup, which definitely has vegetables in it. Same with that pie you just pulled from the oven...” _

_ Crowley nodded warily, eyes wide with concern. “Yeah… yeah and a vegetarian breakfast casserole. Some vegetable fried rice… vegetarian lasagna… Was sort of limited. I picked dishes you had most of the ingredients for. Ones I could chop finely to spread what you had out across as many meals as possible, and ones that would reheat well.” He frowned and looked worried as he spoke. His voice yet again took on an anxious tone before suddenly halting his train of thought, then adding solemnly, “Didn’t know how long you’d be asleep.” _

_ “I am fairly certain  _ anything _ green in my fridge should have expired, and I think you’ve used everything fresh I had and  _ then some,  _ Crowley. Why not give yourself clothing and rest instead? Or at the very least pick meals with less produce? It’s not as if you or I need them to be healthy by human standards.” _

_ “Like I said, miracles are draining. I had to choose between clothing and miracling food. Clothing wasn’t going to keep me busy. And…” Crowley looked away, shifting his focus onto the food in the pan in front of him. Aziraphale could see the slightest blush on his face as he mumbled something. _

_ “What was that, dear?” _

_ Crowley loaded up the plate with savory crêpes and swapped it for the empty one on the table. “Plants are easy.” _

_ Aziraphale tilted his head in confusion, raising an eyebrow quizzically. _

_ Crowley only cast his gaze around the kitchen as if looking for something to rescue him. He moved toward the sink with the dirtied pan and plate in his grasp.  _

_ Aziraphale snapped his fingers to tidy up the kitchen. His heart sank at the reaction it caused in his demon. He hadn’t thought anything of it since Crowley had no reaction to the clothing miracle, but this time Crowley flinched at the sound, his eyes shutting for several long moments in fear.  _

How many times did Gabriel snap his fingers and the result was immediate pain for Crowley? It couldn’t have only been once or twice, if it has him so frightened.

But Gabriel always did keep me on my toes more than Crowley ever did. 

_ Aziraphale thought back through all the times Gabriel would appear out of nowhere to give him assignments, or return unexpectedly to get one last bit of info. He had always chalked it up to Gabriel operating on a different wavelength than himself. Aziraphale was much more laid back than his superior, after all. But if Gabriel punished Crowley’s disobedience as erratically as he seemed to operate regarding his Heavenly tasks - and if punishments were anything near the severity Aziraphale had witnessed - then it was truly remarkable Crowley's fears weren't far, far worse. _

_ He stifled the feeling of protective rage that stirred in him. Those feelings would do no good in front of Crowley and be even more of a hindrance once they returned to Heaven for their check in with Michael.  _

_ Slowly, Crowley reopened his eyes and took in the state of the objects in his hands, and the dishes in the sink. He looked over at Aziraphale with a frown, an utterly lost expression, stranded somewhere between confusion and disappointment. _

_ “There’s no reason for you to clean, Crowley. It’s the least I can do for all your hard work.” Aziraphale sat back down at the table, motioning for Crowley to join him. Golden eyes flickered between the empty seat across from Aziraphale and the floor beside it. _

_ Crowley knelt upright near the table. Aziraphale didn’t let it show how much the action concerned him. _

_ “Please explain what you mean, dear? What’s all this about plants?” _

_ “They don’t drain me much. I am used to working with them." Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale briefly, wary and cautious, swallowing nervously before continuing. "Other stuff is more draining for me to create more of, too. If I spaced out the healing or duplication with the chopping, I could keep working.”  _

_ Of course! Crowley had always had an affinity with plants, ever since the Garden. Aziraphale never considered how that might translate into Crowley’s proficiency with miracles or his own love of food, but upon further examination it made perfect sense.  _

_ It pained him to think of Gabriel harming Crowley, a demon so in tune with the Almighty’s verdant nature that while his powers were being suppressed… those sorts of miracles were the only ones he could somewhat easily manage. _

Why Crowley? Is this just a trap to convict me of loving a demon? Have I already given them everything they need by healing him, being more kind to him than they were?

Am I just going to lose him again?

_ Aziraphale took a bite of food and wondered what he’d be walking into when they returned to Heaven later. What would Michael ask? What would Aziraphale say if Gabriel was there? _

_ “Are they all right?” Crowley asked cautiously. _

_ “Oh, they are far more than that, my dear.” Aziraphale beamed at him in approval. “Absolutely splendid.” _

_ “I’m glad you like it.” Crowley meekly replied, but his eyes were shining with love.  _

_ Aziraphale desperately pushed the imminent check in with Heaven from his mind and tried to focus on the joy present in the moment. He ate his crêpes slowly, savoring every bite, the taste, texture, and warmth of what Crowley had created for him. He allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he often would at restaurants. Aziraphale imagined Crowley sitting across from him at a little family owned cafe instead of this reality, Crowley kneeling at his feet in their kitchen.  _

_ Crowley’s voice pulled him from the wishful fantasy.  _

_ “Are you okay, Angel?” He sounded concerned. _

_ “Absolutely. Why do you ask, dear?” _

_ “You said it yourself. All your food was dead, Aziraphale. You've always kept your food fresh… or eaten it.” Crowley looked down and away as soon as Aziraphale opened his eyes to consider what the demon was asking him. Crowley’s volume lowered and tone turned grim. “Why haven't you been eating? And when did you start sleeping? You were out for almost three days.” _

_ Aziraphale blinked, eyes glazing over as his focus on his surroundings dimmed and his mind raced. _

Three days? I was out that long? That doesn't give us much time. Michael probably  _ already _ expected to hear a word by now. __

_ Crowley's eyes flickering up to look at him snapped Aziraphale back into the present. Crowley waited for an answer patiently, more so than Aziraphale was accustomed to from Crowley.  _

_ But rather than causing his dear demon to become rankled, Aziraphale could see his silence was only worsening Crowley's concerns. _

_ Aziraphale knew his answer was not going to please Crowley, but he knew pretending it was no big deal was unlikely to work.  _

_ He took another bite of food, an excuse to think about how to word his response while he chewed. _

_ “I stopped eating while I was researching how to bring you back. I started passing out a few days later? I suppose my corporation has gotten used to human methods of recharge over the years.” _

_ Crowley nodded in response, but just as Aziraphale anticipated, he did not look happy with the knowledge. _

_ “Do you think you’d be up to talking about what happened?” Aziraphale asked gently. _

_ “I’d rather not, Angel.” The demon drew into himself again; he closed his eyes and shivered. _

_ “That’s fine, dear,” Aziraphale leaned forward to carefully place a reassuring hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “You can take your time.” _

_ Crowley nuzzled his face into Aziraphale’s hand and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thanks, Angel.” _

_ They sat in silence as Aziraphale ate.  _

_ Crowley seemed to relax; his wings slowly settled at his back, no longer pulled in tight. His breaths were even, albeit occasionally drawn out longer than Aziraphale was used to. _

_ For Aziraphale, tension grew with every bite he took. He found himself eating more slowly than usual. As he neared the end of his meal, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. _

_ “I hate to say it, but we’ll need to go back up there shortly. You slept for a full day after I healed you, and if you say I have been asleep for three… and we both slept together for some time, I assume. Michael is waiting on our return.” _

_ The pure dread in Crowley’s expression as the demon slowly opened his eyes to stare at the floor was heartbreaking. Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to keep Crowley here - keep him safe and away from Heaven - but that was not an option yet. _

_ “Pleasse, Angel. Can’t you- didn’t you say sssomething about fake reports?” Crowley looked up at him, trembling. _

_ “That may have been true before I ended up falling asleep myself. I’m sorry, Crowley. We really shouldn’t put it off.” Aziraphale frowned, then moved to the floor in front of Crowley. He held his arms out and the demon leaned forward, accepting the embrace. "If I bring you back as I was ordered then I'll have much more opportunity to convince her you should remain in my custody. If she has to come here for you, she'll take you and I'll have no hope of changing her mind." _

_ Crowley was holding back tears. “They won’t let you keep me.” _

_ “Well, now, we don’t know that for sure.” Aziraphale stroked through Crowley’s hair. “They  _ did _ come to  _ me _ for help.” _

_ “ _ Michael _ came to you for help…  _ he _ didn’t.” Crowley looked off into the distance, terrified. “He wouldn’t ever, Aziraphale.” _

_ “Yes, my dear, I know.” _

_ He took his time returning to his seat to finish the crêpe that remained. It was no longer warm when he did, and he spared no energy to miracle it warm again. _

  
  
  
  


_ They were going back, _

_ Crowley thought they’d have more time. Time to plan. Time to prepare.  _

_ Time to be together before Heaven took it all away again. _

_ It wasn’t long after Aziraphale finished eating that he rose to his feet and helped Crowley to stand up alongside him. They walked to Aziraphale’s desk, where the angel pulled out a length of chain and pocketed the collar remote. He turned to Crowley with the metal links held out for the demon to see. _

_ “I’m sorry, dear, but I’m afraid we are going to have to be convincing.” _

_ Crowley hunched over slightly, arms wrapped around himself. Fears rose in him as he took a long, deep breath to try and keep some semblance of calm.  _

_ “I know, Angel. It’s fine.” _

It's not fine. You fucked up in front of Michael before. You'll do it again. 

_ Aziraphale snapped his fingers and attached the chain to his collar. Here in Aziraphale’s backroom, the sound didn’t have as many hard surfaces to echo off of, unlike the tiles of the kitchen. It was a little easier to still the panic causing his heart to hammer within his chest. He managed to keep himself from flinching entirely.  _

_ Knowing that the miracle was incoming helped, too. The chain had no latch, so it wasn't as if there was any other way for Aziraphale to connect it. _

_ “I’m sorry, love. I promise to do whatever I can. I’ve no intentions of leaving you behind.” Aziraphale gently took one of Crowley’s hands in his own and squeezed slightly. “I’ll miracle us to the front entrance? Going there the human way will likely attract too much attention with your wings forced on display. I’ll keep attention off of us before we cross the threshold, alright?” _

_ Crowley nodded. “Okay, Angel. But-” He looked away with a grimace. _

_ “Yes, love?” _

I shouldn’t be telling him what to do. You don’t have the right to tell him anything. Speaking out of turn. Questioning. Worthless.

_ Crowley swallowed his spiraling thoughts down. This was Aziraphale. It was different, and his angel had no idea what he was walking into. _

_ “The collar… You want to be convincing?” He dared a look toward Aziraphale, who looked at him with patience that he did not deserve. “He always kept it ‘round the middle when he wasn’t…” _

_ “Crowley, I can’t do that! That would  _ hurt _ you…” Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and backed up, shaking his head. He glanced over at his desk, then back to Crowley with anguish on his face. “I have only read about what the settings are meant to do, but none of them sound pleasant.”  _

_ Crowley turned desperate golden eyes on Aziraphale. It took all his determination and no small amount of fear to not wilt and meekly accept, to persuade.  _

_ It all felt just a bit too close to tempting. It made him feel sick, or maybe that was just nerves about going back up top? It was impossible to differentiate the source. _

_ “Please, Angel. We only get one shot at this, yeah?” _

_ “Most likely, yes.” It was Aziraphale’s gaze that was downcast now.  _

_ It felt like ages since he’d been shown any emotion that might be considered weakness. Crowley’s mind warred between his desire to try to be strong to support Aziraphale, and his training to always be the weakest in the room. _

_ “I’ve spent  _ days _ with it set to the middle, and hours at higher settings than that. Please, Angel. You can’t let them think you aren’t serious.” _

_ Aziraphale looked at Crowley with saddened eyes, his tone relenting and disappointed. “How high?” _

_ “05. That’s the middle, yeah?” _

_ “Crowley, the manual said that 03 is typically sufficient enough to prevent temptations, and 08 is what they consider ‘punishment intensity’. 04 through 07 are intended for  _ corrections _.” He slumped down into his desk chair and held his head in his hands, disbelieving.  _

_ Crowley knelt in front of him. Standing while the only other occupant of the room sat felt wrong while he didn’t have any good reason to be on his feet. _

_ “I’m sorry, Aziraphale,” he spoke, voice hushed and sincerely apologetic. _

_ “You’ve done  _ nothing wrong!  _ What am I correcting?” Aziraphale quietly roared at the ceiling as he stood abruptly, hands gripping and pulling his own hair in frustration. He threw the other end of Crowley’s chain towards his chair and paced the small back room. _

_ Crowley couldn’t prevent himself from flinching at the outburst. He cautiously watched Aziraphale pace out of the corner of his eyes.  _

_ “Me.” Crowley replied simply, with a tinge of sadness darkening the word. _

_ Aziraphale stopped in his tracks and whirled to look at Crowley, his beautiful blue eyes horrified. “ _ You _? For what reason? You’ve done nothing wrong, Crowley!” _

_ “‘S’not true. ‘M a demon. I deserve it.” Crowley lowered his head and closed his eyes. _

_ Footsteps neared the desk as the angel slowly returned to his seat, Crowley’s hands were scooped into the warmth of Aziraphale’s own. _

_ “Crowley, you do  _ not _ deserve this just because you fell. You know that, right?” _

_ Crowley shrugged. It was the best response he could give without feeling like he was failing Aziraphale, or his master, or himself. _

_ “You don’t. Falling was your punishment, and even that I am not certain you deserved. Could you do things that are worthy of punishment after falling? Yes. But  _ have _ you? I don’t believe so. Not the demon I fell in love with, who celebrates anniversaries with chocolates and wine.” _

_ “I’m vile, and evil. S’why holy water burns me. And why I have this on,” he gestured to the collar, “so I don’t hurt anyone. And these…” He reached up and tugged briefly on one of the rings in his wing. “So I can be kept under control.” _

_ “Crowley, in all the years I have known you, you’ve never harmed me. Unintentionally, on accident? Perhaps a small handful of times, but never on purpose.” Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s hands a little firmer for a second, then ran his thumbs over them slowly. “The entire time I slept, you were down in our kitchen playing around with all manner of knives and did you even once consider discorporating me?” _

_ Crowley shook his head. “Can’t. Not with the collar on. It’d punish me.” _

_ Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, you wouldn’t even  _ without _ the collar on." Crowley hated how pained and desperate his angel sounded as he continued, emphatically attempting to prove a point Crowley was sure could not be correct. "Do you remember our first kiss? You were distraught over causing pain to a human family who did nothing to deserve it. You were relieved when their abuser couldn’t harm them anymore and I saved their lives. And much before that, on the wall of Eden, you would have had every right to ambush me, take me down and run off to your demon friends to say you killed an angel. What did you do instead?” _

_ He looked at Aziraphale and thought back to the day they met. It seemed so much further away now. The angel had looked so concerned then. Much as he did now, and no less lonely. _

_ But also no less full of love and acceptance. _

_ “Talked to you.” Crowley replied, wistfully.  _

_ Blonde curls shifted as Aziraphale nodded with a small smile. Crowley still remembered how they glinted in the light back at the edge of the garden, before the first rain. Such a beautiful halo had felt out of place framing Aziraphale's gloom and dread.  _

_ “That’s right, my love. You talked to me when even my own kind avoided me. You showed me kindness that they did not. Why?” _

_ He'd wanted to make Aziraphale smile. _

Good luck doing that ever again. Look at you… pathetic, worthless… 

_ Crowley shrugged once more. “You looked worried about something. Hadn’t ever seen you talk much to anyone. Thought you might be like me. Lonely.”  _

_ “Angels assigned as Guardians do that too, you know. Watch and step in to protect, or cheer up. Something truly evil and deserving of punishment wouldn’t be so kind.” Aziraphale leaned in to kiss Crowley on the forehead; his lips lingered there for a breath before sitting back in his seat.  _

_ It was slow, warm, tender. Crowley wanted more of it. He wanted Aziraphale to shower him in kisses and he wanted to return the favor.  _

_ He wanted Aziraphale to stop trying to convince him of things that couldn't be true. He wanted his angel to allow him a few quiet, loving final minutes before Heaven tore them apart for good.  _

_ In all senses of the phrase.  _

_ “You’ve  _ never _ been violent unless provoked or protecting yourself, my dear. If anything, I’d say having that damned thing on might be making you fear lashing out in self defense, which, from the damage I’ve healed, I can say would be more than justified.” _

_ Crowley shuffled forward a bit and rested his head on Aziraphale’s knee. “There needs to be a reason, Angel.” _

_ Aziraphale continued to hold Crowley’s hands in one of his own, but withdrew the other to stroke gently through his hair.  _

_ Crowley hated how often and easily he had cried in front of his angel, but he couldn’t hold back the few tears that ran down his face. _

_ “What do you mean, love?” _

_ Crowley thought for a minute, crying softly as memories overwhelmed him. “At first the pain was to protect us, but then that didn’t seem possible, because it was clear they weren’t planning on letting me go. So then, it was to protect you, but you weren’t able to enjoy life without me gone.” _

_ “Of course not!” Aziraphale sounded shocked at the very suggestion. “I could barely function without you here, darling. I searched night and day.” _

_ “Right… I get that, but I still hoped you’d be having the life I couldn’t have with you anymore, yeah? Made the pain worthwhile… gave it all purpose… meaning.” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, just barely within his periphery to see the angel nod down at him. “So now, if they keep me, or lock you up for loving me, or both… I can’t fall back on that. I can’t lie to myself and believe you are off drinking wine with your books and your cakes, enjoying Earth without me.” _

_ Crowley choked off another sob and nestled in more to Aziraphale’s lap. He tried to take comfort in the touches of his angel, the warmth of him, the loving gaze he saw when he dared to look upwards for the strength to continue.  _

_ “Then, there was pleasing him. If I could make master happy… if what master wanted was my suffering and I endured it to his satisfaction… that was another reason for the pain. But it wasn’t always enough, and now he’s gone. If- if I have to stay there… I only know how to please  _ him. _ I don’t know about making any of  _ them _ happy. And if he  _ is _ there?” _

_ Crowley felt himself tremble at the thought. He was barely able to rasp out the words as his breaths became shallow with his rising emotions. _

_ “So now the only reason left is me, Angel. I need a reason for it all to make sense and that’s the only one I’ve got left.” _

_ Aziraphale slipped off the chair and embraced him. Crowley held on and allowed himself to cry. Aziraphale was so soft against him. There was love pouring off his angel, soothing and healing, but it felt so far from enough to quell his fears. He was terrified the other angels would feel it when they went back; they’d be found out and it’d all be over. _

_ “I am sorry, my love, but you don’t deserve this. Not after how long you’ve protected and loved. It may never make sense, but I am here for you. I love you, and I am going to find a way out of this for us, I promise.” _

He doesn’t deserve to suffer like I do. There’s no good way out of this.

_ He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. Crowley was unanchored, and the storm raged on all around him, within his soul.  _

_ He hated that he just wanted someone to tell him how to act, how to think. He hated that Gabriel's influence and hold over him was so strong that even here, wrapped in Aziraphale's embrace, it spoiled and invalidated everything his angel said.  _

You're a worthless demon slut; you don't deserve Aziraphale. Your true purpose is serving  _ Him. _

_ Crowley wanted to believe Aziraphale, but he couldn't yet. He said the one thing he believed without any reservations in his heart. It hurt to say, knowing it could be his last chance to express it.  _

_ “I love you too, Angel.”  _

_ A small part of his soul was calmed at the idea that at least this time, he got to say it back before disappearing. Aziraphale hugged him closer, and Crowley did get what he wanted. _

_ A short, calming, blissful silence spent near enough to Aziraphale that he could hear the angel's heart beat.  _

_ Steady. Close. Loving. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I really appreciate all the comments and feedback so much!
> 
> Chapter 8 will arrive on December 30th! 
> 
> Also, any [Descent Into Perdition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096/chapters/57425635) fans should look forward to a special holiday DiPmas gift in the form of a short inspired work on the 23rd! December is set to be a big update month!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you for all the wonderful support and comments on chapter 7!
> 
> It's December 30th! I hope you are all ready for chapter 8!
> 
> Another big thank you, as always, to [DreamsofSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsofSpike) and [Dacelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin) for support, beta work, and feedback! And thank you once again to [Mevima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima) for reaching out after chapter 7 went live to let me know of some minor typos/errors!
> 
> Special shoutout to The Repossessed Discord server! You guys really are the absolute best!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings for this chapter.

_ “So, what number do you think would be best?” _

_ Crowley took a deep breath and leaned back. He wiped the tears that still lingered in his eyes. “Can… can you set it to 04? 03 hurts all over, and 04's a bit worse… but not as debilitating as 05. It takes a lot longer for 04 to overwhelm me." _

_ "I was going to suggest 02 or 03." _

_ Crowley shook his head. "Too low. Gotta be convincing, yeah?" _

_ Aziraphale swallowed and looked away. He knew Crowley had to be right; he was the one who had been in the collar this whole time, after all. But actively hurting Crowley was something he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to do. _

_ “Can’t you just reach up and…" He pointed to his own neck, and mimicked the motion of turning the dial. _

_“No, Angel. If I touch it, it’ll jump to 08, or do nothing if it’s already set to 08 or higher.” There was a pause, then Crowley let out a few short breaths of air, a dark laugh. Aziraphale looked to Crowley with a questioning frown. The demon wrapped his arms around himself and gave Aziraphale a sad, wry smile. “If you don’t want to turn it up yourself, that_ would _work. You could turn it_ down to 04 _. I’d rather not, though.”_

_ “No! That’s… not necessary.” He felt his own eyebrows scrunch up at the grim offer. “I’ll do it.” _

_ Aziraphale reached forward and carefully clicked the dial up one number at a time. Crowley was still until 03 and flinched slightly at 04. There was no negativity in his eyes, just a slight strain or weariness that hadn’t been there moments before. _

_ “I love you, Aziraphale.” Crowley held out the chain to his collar with a mild grimace.  _

_ Aziraphale took the metal links and nodded. “I love you too, Crowley. I won’t leave you. I’ll teleport us. Follow my lead.” _

_ He raised his fingers to snap and waited for Crowley to give him a sign to proceed. The demon took a deep breath, then nodded. Aziraphale snapped and moved them both to the front entrance of Heaven and Hell. He wasted no time walking the few paces to the escalator. It was draining to keep attention off of them both until they passed the barrier, but thankfully he’d aimed close enough to the escalator that there hadn’t been very far to walk. _

_ The bright lights of Heaven didn’t feel any less oppressive this time, now that Aziraphale had seen what his peers were capable of. _

_ Eyes turned and angels murmured to each other as Aziraphale led Crowley towards Michael’s office. They all made way for them to pass, but none went back to their business as they would have if it was merely Aziraphale reporting in. The curiosity about the demon being kept by angels was too rare and intriguing for them to ignore.  _

_ Aziraphale wanted to look back at Crowley and be sure he was all right, or reassure him if he wasn’t, but Aziraphale didn’t want anyone in Heaven believing him any softer than his reputation already.  _

_ He pushed aside all thoughts that things could go wrong. He needed to believe that things would turn out all right. _

I made it out of Heaven with Crowley once. I merely have to do it again. 

_ Aziraphale’s mind reeled as he neared Gabriel’s office door. His stomach dropped, fearful that his boss would be present for this meeting. He had given some thought to how he was going to try and reason that Crowley should stay with him, and none of his ideas involved arguing that he was a better selection than the Archangel.  _

_ Aziraphale glanced into the office window as they passed, only to find it empty. Gabriel’s things were all present and accounted for, but the Archangel himself was still absent. _

_ Aziraphale felt no relief at the sight.  _

_ He still dreaded that Gabriel might be elsewhere, perhaps even waiting alongside Michael. Certainly, Gabriel would have had more than enough warning that Aziraphale had entered Heaven with Crowley. Heaven was abuzz with hushed chatter. Doors were opening to catch a glimpse of the leashed demon, and angels were crowded at office windows as they made their way to Michael’s department. _

_ They arrived at Michael’s office to find the door was already open. She was standing beside her desk and appeared eager to greet him warmly. _

_ “Aziraphale! So good to see you.” _

_ Aziraphale forced a smile in return. “Likewise, Archangel Michael. I’ve returned the demon, as requested.” _

_ Crowley knelt at Aziraphale’s side. His head tilted down with his chin resting on his chest. Golden eyes were closed and his wings were drawn in close to his back. _

_Crowley didn’t look quite as broken as the day Aziraphale had first seen him in Heaven, but it was close enough to unsettle him and start a tiny fire of rage burning once more in his soul. How many times had_ he felt _like nothing more than a meek servant of Heaven?_

_ Seeing his once proud, brazen Crowley reduced to lower than that suddenly wasn’t so far-fetched or shocking at all, and Aziraphale hated how his own long-suffered mistreatment by the Archangels had blinded him to the possibility for it to be pushed this far. It was clear now that Heaven was always willing to do whatever it took to achieve obedience, they simply never needed to resort to such obvious cruelty with their own kind. _

Why would I ever assume they _ wouldn’t _ go this far? They’ve only ever seen demons as the enemy, a foe to be vanquished and nothing more. 

_ The longer he spent on Earth and closer he became with Crowley, the easier it had been to forget that. He hadn't always been reminding  _ Crowley  _ that they were enemies whenever he cruelly dragged the fact back into the space between them. He had used it to keep Crowley at arm's length throughout their friendship, yes, but it had just as often been a reminder to  _ himself _. _

_ He hadn't coldly reminded either of them about that fact for so long now, maybe he'd started to believe things could change. _

_ Heaven hadn't been kind enough to merely take a single pin to the balloon of this hope that Aziraphale didn't know he'd been harboring. That hope was shredded, never to lift from the dirt - the fears and doubts - of his heart ever again. _

I don't need Heaven to change. I need to protect Crowley from them, that's all.

_ Michael moved close and inspected Crowley; she looked closely at his arms and wings. Crowley offered no resistance and moved as prompted by her touch, which was thankfully slow, measured, gentle enough to ease a bit of the tension in Crowley’s form as he silently repositioned at her lead. Her eyes remained cool, completely lacking in compassion or concern for Crowley.  _

_ Michael nodded briefly to Aziraphale, then looked down at Crowley as she finished, a slight frown and one raised brow. “He gave you no trouble, then, Principality?”  _

_ A flash of Crowley flailing on the couch, kicking him in the shoulder in startled fear. Another of Crowley trembling and begging to be left bleeding and in pain, insisting he deserved it.  _

By your standards, I am sure the answer would be yes.

_ Aziraphale swallowed the painful memories and kept his voice disinterested and even. “None at all.” _

_ “That’s… very reassuring to hear.” Aziraphale could almost hear her thinking the word 'surprising' as she trailed off, uncertainly, before regaining her more usual calculatory tone. Michael tilted Crowley’s head back before taking a step back herself. “He’s coherent, then?” _

_ “He can speak; however, I must admit I wasn't able to get him to say much to me.”  _

_ “I see.” She looked thoughtfully toward Aziraphale for a moment before she turned her full attention to Crowley. “Open your eyes and speak your name, demon.” _

_ Crowley’s eyelids slowly opened. He did not make eye contact with Michael, instead letting his gaze remain mostly unfocused somewhere around her knees. _

_ “My name is Crowley, ma’am.” His words were devoid of emotion, empty and robotic, almost as if it were a pre-recorded message and not a direct response he was making in real time. _

_ Michael nodded. "Do you know where you are now, Crowley?" _

_ "Heaven." _

_ "That is correct. And do you know where you were before returning to Heaven?" _

_ Uncertainty seeped into Crowley's response. His face tightened with concern. "Earth?" _

_ "Is that a question, or your answer?"  _

_ Michael's tone had given no indication of her preference between the two, but Crowley was quick to adjust his delivery in an attempt to fix what he clearly perceived as a mistake.  _

_ "I believe it was Earth, ma'am." _

_ "Could you tell me  _ where _ on Earth, Crowley?" _

_ "A bookshop," Crowley answered, and when Michael said nothing in response, he added nervously, "It was Aziraphale's bookshop, ma'am. In London. London Soho." _

_ “Very good." Her praise was warm and caused Crowley to relax considerably for a moment until her next question, calm and neutral once more. "What are you, Crowley?” _

_ “A demon.” Shame weighed heavy on the word. _

_ “What is your purpose here in Heaven, Crowley?” _

_ Crowley blinked and swallowed. His eyes no longer looked at Michael's knees, now lowered to her feet. Aziraphale could have sworn he saw tears at the corner of one eye. “I am Heaven’s slave.” Crowley's voice wavered slightly, cracked with emotion at the last word. He almost hissed, obviously forcefully composing the delivery of his sibilants to avoid what Aziraphale knew would have otherwise been his more natural sound at this level of emotion or distress.  _

_ The result was jarring, unnatural to Aziraphale's ears. It sounded like Crowley's voice, because of course it did; it was Crowley but it wasn't  _ his _ Crowley. It felt like a convincing impersonation without the proper accent to match. _

_ Michael appeared satisfied with this answer and delivery. Aziraphale had to hide his repulsion behind an expression of mild curiosity. He hoped his distaste would read as wariness, and was thankful Michael didn’t appear at all interested in Aziraphale’s reactions to her questions or to Crowley’s responses. _

_ “Why were you left in punishment, Crowley?” _

_ “I deserved it, ma’am.” _

_ “What did you  _ do _ to  _ deserve _ punishment, Crowley?” _

_ “I failed, ma’am.”  _

_ Michael frowned and Aziraphale spoke up in false frustration. “These vague answers were all I was able to get him to reveal to me, as well. I believe he may not have very clear memories of the events just before and during his last punishment. He was quite disoriented when he was initially released from the sensory block.” _

_ “While I appreciate your opinions, Aziraphale,” Her tone indicated the exact opposite of her words, “these questions are for Crowley.” She gave Aziraphale a pointed look and waited to ensure he wouldn’t be speaking up out of turn again before continuing. _

_ “Why call out for Aziraphale during your punishment, Crowley?” _

_ Crowley’s eyes widened and Aziraphale saw his muscles tense.  _

_ Aziraphale wanted to kick himself. He had failed to mention that detail to Crowley.  _

_ “I called for Aziraphale?” The demon frowned, confused. “I’m not sure why, ma’am. His name is the only one that ever comes up regularly, so maybe that’s…” Crowley shook his head as he began to tremble, fearful. “N-No. No excuses. I-I’m sorry... if I did say his name. I didn’t know- I wasn’t- Please, I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.” _

_ Crowley avoided looking at Aziraphale, but it was clear that Crowley was lost, grasping at anything that might help and conditioned to believe nothing he said in his own defense, no matter how truthful, was permissible. _

_ He had done the same thing while he believed Aziraphale was Gabriel. It was more difficult seeing the struggle aimed at one of his superiors and having no way to calm his dear demon. _

_ Was this really what Heaven expected of Crowley? A slave so low in confidence and self worth that they could do nothing but assume guilt over everything and beg for mercy?  _

_ Michael’s lips were pressed into a thin line. “I see.” She turned to Aziraphale and held her hand out. “Thank you for your work, Aziraphale. I’ll handle the demon for now. You may submit any relevant observations through the usual channels, directly to me, at your earliest convenience. You are dismissed.” _

_ Aziraphale reluctantly handed over the leash to Michael. She fastened the links to a ring on the floor with a miracle. The new, shorter length forced Crowley to bend over his knees. He settled into a bowed kneel, forehead pressed to the floor just as he had been when Aziraphale had first seen him in Heaven. _

_ Crowley didn't seem startled by the length shortening and settled into the position alarmingly fast. If anything, Aziraphale might have said Crowley seemed more relaxed in this position than he'd been able to be so far. _

_ “What will happen once I leave? Has Gabriel returned?” _

_ “That’s hardly your concern, Aziraphale.”  _

_ “I believe it is my concern. I report directly to Gabriel. I need to know where to send my updates if he’s still absent, Archangel.” _

_ “Continue sending your reports to Gabriel.” Michael placed a hand on Aziraphale's lower back as she walked towards the door, ushering him from her office. “I am sure he will return to Heaven shortly. I’ll be overseeing the demon’s care until then.” Her eyebrows raised, and tone grew prim with finality. “The remote?”  _

_ Aziraphale removed the collar remote from his pocket and gave it to her. He felt his chances slipping away. He needed a reason to keep Crowley and, as far as Michael was concerned, didn’t have one yet. He needed to create one soon or he’d lose his opportunity. _

_ He let himself be led to the entrance of the vast room, but stopped at the doorway and turned toward her, insistent. “Perhaps I could continue to be of assistance somehow until Gabriel returns?” _

_ Relief and gratitude crept into her voice, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Are you offering to help search for Gabriel, Aziraphale?" _

_ "Ah, no." Aziraphale couldn't help fidgeting with his hands; his eyes fell away from Michael as he nervously scrambled around in his mind for the right words. "No, I don't think that would be advisable. I've never been very good keeping track of things, or tracking people down, I'm afraid. Unless it's a first edition, then I’m your angel!" _

_ Michael’s face lacked complete understanding, but grasped the overall message enough to seem disappointed. "Then, what exactly are you offering?" Aziraphale took a long glance in Crowley's direction and realization reflected in her eyes. “I see. While your enthusiasm to aid Heaven while in need is appreciated, Principality, this project is extremely classified.” _

_ “I believe that’s already been compromised by involving me, has it not?”  _

_ Michael was calm as she gave a moment to form her response. “It has. Exactly. So you understand-” _

_ “Then why not give yourself more time to focus on locating Gabriel?”  _

_ Michael blinked in surprise as she was interrupted, but she remained unfazed.  _

Without an audience here to judge her reactions, I’m not going to be able to convince her as easily. __

_ Aziraphale took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. He did his best to sound like he knew exactly what needed to happen. “I’ve already proven I can handle the demon, and I believe you’ll need time to question Gabriel without Crowley here when he returns.” _

_ Michael opened her mouth to speak, only to close it, a scowl darkening her features. There was a glare that clearly said Aziraphale had overspoken his boundaries, but her continued silence told him to explain himself or leave. _

_ Aziraphale had no intention of leaving without Crowley, no more than he had the first time. _

_ “Was  _ this _ part of Heaven’s classified mission, Michael?” _

_ Aziraphale snapped his fingers, miracling his notebook into his grasp. Far behind Michael, he saw Crowley flinch at the sound, his dark wings rustled and pulled in tight in response.  _

_ Aziraphale flipped to the page containing images of the scar previously found on Crowley’s lower back, the one containing Gabriel’s name entwined with Crowley’s. _

_ Michael took the book, glanced at the pages for the briefest of moments before shutting it and holding it back out toward him. There was a subtle roll to her eyes as Aziraphale miracled the book back where it belonged. He loathed how Crowley reacted in fear yet again, but didn't want to risk raising suspicions over a change in method. _

_ "We are aware of the mark, Aziraphale. Gabriel was given expanded allowances from us here in Heaven in order to obtain absolute obedience from the demon Crowley.” Michael leaned in closer to him, lowering her volume considerably. “I would prefer not to have such discussions in front of the subject." _

_ Michael gestured for them to step outside her office, but Aziraphale stayed just inside the doorway.  _

_ Stepping outside the room meant giving up control. Even if the audience in the hall could potentially benefit him, Aziraphale wasn’t willing to gamble the possibility that it might work against him this time. Onlookers could easily perceive Aziraphale's insistence as rude and side with Michael, most of them knew her better than him, after all. Instead, he kept his response hushed. "The word for 'slave' alone should have been sufficient, should it not? Why turn it into such a  _ personalized _ marking of ownership?" _

_ Michael glanced over to Crowley and snapped her fingers in his direction, presumably to prevent him from hearing anything more of their conversation.  _

_ The fact that Crowley remained still after the noise this time was only a minor relief for Aziraphale's mind. He dreaded the idea that Crowley once again had his senses cut off, but Aziraphale still dared to hope that Crowley being silenced might give way to an opportunity to convince Michael to release Crowley into his care once more. _

_ "Indeed, Aziraphale.” Michael's eyes narrowed as she turned her attention back to Aziraphale. The intensity was not only of that of an Archangel, but one specifically designed to find weaknesses and exploit them, to win wars. She stepped into his physical space. “Why  _ does _ it seem so personal? You seem awfully invested in this demon.” _

_ Aziraphale stepped around her, toward Crowley, and adjusted his vest nervously. He stood up straighter as he did so, refusing to back down or cower under her scrutinous gaze. He briefly swept an extended arm in Crowley’s direction, behind himself.  _

_ “ _ This demon  _ has been my adversary since the Earth began, Archangel. I know his devilry better than any other; a fact you yourself confirmed by coming to me for assistance when your highly classified project ran into trouble.” _

_ The Archangel made a half circle around Aziraphale as he spoke. By the time he paused, Michael was yet again between Crowley and Aziraphale.  _

_ Aziraphale once more made his way around her to stand closer to Crowley. “He is stationed on Earth, which falls under _ my _ watch.”  _

_ Michael abandoned their circling and walked back toward Crowley directly. Aziraphale kept pace with her. Her eyes shifted between the two of them skeptically as he spoke. “Quite frankly, I’m insulted I wasn’t part of this project from the beginning, if  _ this _ demon was part of your plans from the start. So yes, it  _ is _ personal.”  _

_ Aziraphale reached his conclusion as they arrived at Crowley’s hunched form. Michael stood at his head and Aziraphale behind and to his side, much as they had at the start of their meeting. _

_ “Is that really so, Aziraphale?” Michael sounded wholly unconvinced. She reached out to Crowley’s left wing and hooked a finger through the ring there, then tugged upwards on the piercing, forcing Crowley to extend the limb. “The wing restraints are still here…” She repeated the process with the other wing. Crowley made no attempt to lower either wing; he kept them exactly as Michael positioned them. “Yet, you’ve shown me an image of the scar which says to me that you've chosen to heal it.”  _

_ Michael bent forward over Crowley and tugged at his shirt, revealing the empty expanse of skin on his lower back to prove her observations to be correct.  _

_ Crowley flinched and tensed as the fabric shifted. _

_ “Seems an odd choice in healing.” Her tone was light and pondering, but Aziraphale knew where she was taking her line of reasoning and dreaded the accusation that had yet to be made. _

_ She locked eyes with Aziraphale as she stood back up, and returned her fingers to the rings that Crowley held up. His wings were now trembling slightly, whether due to fear or strain wasn’t clear and Aziraphale couldn’t allow himself to entertain the debate for a moment or else risk showing concern.  _

_ She pulled at and inspected the rings more closely, speaking almost idly as her eyes flickered up to meet Aziraphale’s own every so often. “The rings go through the joint; intensely uncomfortable even when healed fully, whereas you've chosen to heal a harmless holy water tattoo.” Michael pushed Crowley’s wings back down to a resting position. Aziraphale felt relief that the trembling ceased once Crowley was allowed to fold the limbs back into a more natural resting place.  _

_ “Perhaps one of them offended you a bit more than the other, hmm?" Now, her implication was all but spelt out. She looked confident that Aziraphale would wilt under the pressure. _

_ "Emblazoning one's name into the flesh of another living being does seem more offensive at a glance than what amounts to functional piercings that could help keep a disobeying demon in check, would you not agree?" Saying such things aloud, however untrue the words rang in his soul, still made Aziraphale hate himself the slightest amount. He was almost grateful Crowley was deafened and unable to hear it. _

_ Silence filled the air as the two angels seemed equally unsure how to proceed.  _

The goalposts are being moved. If I don’t steer things back in my favor now, then I may not have another chance.

_ "The reasonings behind my choices are far from relevant, Archangel Michael. You want complete obedience from him, and you believe the mark was put there to serve that purpose. I believe I do  _ not _ need such marks to achieve complete obedience from the demon Crowley and I'm offering to be his 'keeper' until Gabriel returns.”  _

_ Aziraphale stepped very deliberately next to the hunched demon, closer to his head. He hoped that Crowley would see his shoes and take comfort in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone with Michael. The action had the added benefit of appearing as confident and insistent as he was attempting to sound. “And perhaps beyond that, if Crowley behaves better under my watch than his." _

_ “I’ll consider your offer once I’ve finished questioning the demon to see why he was left in his last state of punishment.”  _

_ Michael gave Aziraphale a dismissive wave, which he ignored. _

_ “And what exactly  _ is _ your plan for getting such information from him?” _

_ She gave a long sigh. “What do you mean?” _

_ “When he fails to provide you with adequate information, as he did just now… how  _ exactly _ do you expect to reach a different outcome than your previous attempts to engage with the demon?” _

_ “He is coherent. I’m sure I’ll manage.” Michael’s words were brisk, clipped and out of patience. “Thank you for your concern, Aziraphale. Now, if you would  _ please _ be on your way.” _

_ She reached down and waved a hand over Crowley’s leash to miracle enough slack to rise. With a single tap to his head, Crowley sat back up. His eyes were closed and his head bowed. _

_ “Really? Because I'm afraid I'd still need more time with the demon, personally. And that’s  _ with _ the added benefit of us having a speaking rapport already built up over thousands of years while we shared neighboring territories on Earth. He was still reluctant to say anything about his captivity in Heaven thus far. I fear it would be all too easy to cause the demon to regress, if you go back to using extreme measures-” _

_ “Extreme measures? He is a demon, Aziraphale!” Michael glared down at Crowley, then swiftly up at Aziraphale, expression accusatory and wild. “A demon who very likely  _ deserves  _ everything Heaven could  _ ever _ do to him. And nothing we could do would ever be extreme  _ enough _ , if he’s the reason Gabriel is missing!” _

_ Aziraphale nearly took a step back from the outburst on impulse. “He may be a demon, but he’s not without limits. Your methods nearly broke him. I can't promise you I'll be able to return him to anything resembling sanity if you push him to such extents so soon after I've healed him. If you truly want answers you must restrain yourself. Let his mind heal more. Give him more time to recover his memories, or feel safe enough to tell them, whatever the case may be.” _

_ “I am an Archangel, Principality. Do  _ not _ tell me how to do my job.” She bit out the words, low and warning, clearly fighting down anger. _

_ “What exactly is your goal then, Archangel? Are you hoping for answers or revenge?” Aziraphale’s tone became sardonic, and Michael was left slack-jawed at the accusation. She paced away and then back, incredulous. _

_ Her voice was cold and calm when she finally replied. _

_ “Get out.” _

_ There was defeat in those words, an unacknowledged guilt that begged for solitude and reflection. She moved to her desk and sat down, swivelling her chair to glare at the kneeling demon, now trembling once more, Michael made a slow, pinching motion with her thumb and two fingers, which gently shortened the length of his chain. Crowley had a brief expression of confusion as he followed the pull downwards and finally relaxed once his head was able to touch the floor.  _

_ Michael turned away with a sigh and gave a long stare at her desk, far more cluttered with paperwork than it had been during his previous visit. Her anger faded away into something clearly overwhelmed, not just with work, but with worry. Aziraphale didn't visit Michael much, but if she was anything like Gabriel, then paperwork didn't pile up on her desk. His own desk in the bookshop often had some amount of clutter, but it was nothing compared to the stacks of books and papers that littered it now, in the wake of Crowley's absence. _

Gabriel has been missing over a week, and more likely for several weeks. Who knows how long it took her to call me in to assist.

_ Aziraphale couldn't help but feel for her. Looking at the Archangel with her head now in her hands, Aziraphale only saw what he knew he must have looked like himself, before Heaven sent for him.  _

_ He hadn't intended to leave when she told him to get out. He had intended to stand his ground and remain firm. _

_ He had intended to break her resolve just as he had the first time.  _

_ It was overwhelmingly clear that wasn't an angle that would work today.  _

_ Aziraphale pulled up one of the chairs across from her desk and had a seat. Michael glared at him sharply, but said nothing. _

_ “I believe if he  _ knew _ I was his keeper and he wasn't going to face more punishment for telling me things I might not be  _ allowed _ to know, I'd be able to make more progress. I’m quite confident that I could get whatever information you needed by the time Gabriel returns.” _

_ "Bold claims. I've never seen you this confident before, Aziraphale. How are  _ you _ so calm about all this, while Heaven is terrified?” There was a jealous, bitter sting to her words. _

_ Aziraphale leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “Benefit of distance, I suppose.” _

_ “You’re lucky. Everyone is pointing at my team like _ I did this _. Gabriel was the face everyone knew as Crowley’s keeper, and mine was the face of the project. They think the demon destroyed Gabriel with hellfire, that we’ll never find him. They want revenge, and for me to make it right.” It was clear in the way she spoke that Michael was not convinced, and that she was angry with herself for thinking differently. If he hadn't felt so similarly of his own thoughts of and feelings for Crowley for so many years, he might have missed the flicker of anger, or at the very least misinterpreted its direction. _

It's so much easier to just think and feel what the rest of them think. I couldn't count the number of times I prayed to Her to fix me, to help me stop loving a demon. To make me more like everyone else. 

_ Aziraphale nodded in understanding. “And what do you think, Archangel?” _

_ “I don’t know what I think, but the numbers don’t add up. The collar wasn’t firing when we found him. If he destroyed Gabriel, it would have been.” She glowered at Crowley, who remained almost entirely still, a vision of perfect obedience. “But maybe he gave Gabriel malicious information, led him into a trap?”  _

_ Michael sighed, frustrated, before turning her gaze to Aziraphale, seeking something from him. He wasn't sure what to say or how to react. He didn't want anything he said being misinterpreted as agreement that Crowley might be at fault, or lead her to thinking more deeply about their shared history. _

_ "I'm sure you are under quite a bit of stress. It must be difficult." He added, hesitantly. "I only wish to help. I believe I can get you answers, but I cannot assist you in exacting revenge." _

_ Michael gave him a rueful smile and a nod at his words, but she said nothing and quickly appeared to be lost in thought.  _

_ Silence stretched out between them. Aziraphale tried not to fuss with his hands and just be a comforting presence, but his awareness of Crowley to his right, hunched over and deafened for sure, if not blinded as well, did not help Aziraphale relax. Crowley had seemed relatively at ease last he looked, but he didn't want to risk looking too intently or frequently. He mostly glanced at Michael, but otherwise let his eyes fall unfocused between them, down at her disorganized desk. _

He's not in pain. He's perfectly fine. I'll get him out of this.

_ Finally, Michael took a deep breath, prepared to speak. _

_ “I do want answers, and I want to find my brother. And you are right, I won’t get any of that by breaking him. And he’s not safe with so many here in Heaven wanting me to douse him in holy water and be done with it all.” Michael warily looked between Crowley and Aziraphale, frowning. "If I am to make you his keeper, Aziraphale, I am going to need to be sure of some things." _

_ "Yes?" Aziraphale tried not to sound eager, but his heart soared at the idea of taking Crowley back to Earth and potentially having a bit more power in the situation once he was involved in an official capacity.  _

_ "How do you intend to handle the demon when he disobeys?" _

_ A flash of Crowley confessing his love through tears in his eyes, after a first kiss he'd immediately apologized for, back in the last winter of '86. Another of the demon giving him a weak smile over a plate of crêpes, just this morning. _

_ Aziraphale visibly faltered, then strengthened his resolve to respond. "I-I'm sure it won't have to come to- to  _ that _."  _

_ "I would be more reassured leaving him in your care if I knew you could handle the demon should he decide to act nefariously. You've clearly put much thought into how you'll treat him when he's obeying, but he  _ is _ still a demon. He'll go against your orders eventually, Aziraphale. Tell me what you  _ would  _ do." _

_"I-I have thought of it,_ _but he's never given me a reason to- Not since I've had custody of him… and we have enough of a rapport that-"_

_ "Is that  _ really  _ all it is? A discorporation truce and  _ nothing _ more?" The skeptical tone from before returned in full force. Her emphasis on the word 'nothing' seemed to pull all the moisture from his mouth, dreadfully, uncomfortably dry.  _

_ He'd prepared for questions about his relationship or time spent in the proximity of Crowley, but never fully prepared for anyone in Heaven to call him out so directly on leaving out details, which he certainly was entirely guilty of doing.  _

_ Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, anxiety twisted in his stomach. He fought through it with an indignation to disguise his fears.  _

_ "What else could it be, Archangel? We've been adversaries since-" _

_ "The beginning of Earth's time, yes. I'm aware." Michael gave a thoughtful look down at Crowley, then continued with a slow, cautious tone. "If the demon Crowley gave you a reason, you'd punish him?" _

_ "I would indeed." _

_ "How, then, would you carry out his punishment?" _

_ "I suppose I'd make use of the collar settings. Punishment starts at setting 08, if I recall what I read in the manual correctly?" _

_ "I'd like you to show me." Michael pulled the remote from her pocket and slid it across the desk towards Aziraphale. _

_"R-right now? He's done nothing to deserve it, presently. I'd be willing to return to Heaven if punishment becomes necessary, so you can personally witness any corrections and ensure they are up to Heaven's standards, but I'm afraid it would be quite against my nature -_ our nature _\- to simply demonstrate such a thing when the subject in question has done nothing wrong." It hurt his heart to offer. He knew Crowley would be dispirited if Aziraphale ever told him that was the arrangement he'd made with Michael._

He'd probably insist we come back to make it look convincing, too.

_ Aziraphale did not think he could manage that.  _

_ The remote remained untouched on Aziraphale’s side of the desk. He kept his hands folded neatly in his lap and refused to lift a single finger toward the device. _

_"A_ re you _aware that this very demon has been_ attempting to seduce you, _Aziraphale?" Michael asked as she rose from her seat._

_ "Pardon?"  _

_ "He said it himself, last time he was tested for his loyalty to Heaven as our slave." Michael stated with a dismissive shrug. _

_ Aziraphale couldn’t help glancing down at his hands, nervously fidgeting with them. He found it difficult to meet her gaze. By the time he looked up again, she had moved in front of him, staring down with a mix of concern and judgement that made Aziraphale want to flee.  _

_ He finally gathered the strength to meet her eyes, but felt weakness gripping him by the skull. He had to fight himself to keep his head up and sight on her face. "Well, that hasn't  _ worked _ , clearly."  _

_ She reached for the remote and picked it up, shifting it in her grasp thoughtfully as she spoke with conviction. "The success of the action is irrelevant. The attempted behaviour is what mustn't be tolerated." Michael reached forward to gently grasp Aziraphale's hand; she turned it over and pressed the remote into it. "Remove the sensory block. State his transgression. Then punish him." _

_ Aziraphale shook his head, steadfast. “I find it difficult to believe he hasn’t been punished for his attempts already. If he tries it again, I’ll take action, but  _ not _ before. We're the good guys. We don't do preemptive strikes. And we should be avoiding striking back at all, if at all possible.” _

_ "You haven't been up in Heaven for a long time, Aziraphale," she corrected, darkly, then continued, quickly becoming more heated as she defended her request. "You've no right to say  _ what _ we do. Heaven absolutely  _ will _ take the first action in order to prevent worse ones from the enemy coming to pass. Crowley  _ is _ our pr-"  _

_ Michael cut herself off mid sweeping gesture in the demon's direction with a growl of disgust and frustration. After barely composing herself, she bit out tersely. “I just need to know you’ll do what  _ needs to be done _ , Aziraphale.” _

_ “I’m more than capable of pressing a button! And in all likelihood I’ll never need to. The manual made it quite clear that the collar will prevent most temptations, and any sort of physical attack would automatically trigger a punishment that must be manually shut off.” Aziraphale stood up and approached Crowley, pocketing the remote as he moved toward the demon. “If I punish him now, it serves no purpose. Gabriel disappeared despite clearly being more than willing to ‘ _ do what needs to be done’ _. If I punish Crowley, I risk damaging what trust the demon has with me, which I’ll be needing if I want the truth you are seeking. And for what gain? Your false sense of security?” _

_ Her expression softened. “Aziraphale, I can’t risk him doing something to you while you are both on Earth. He’ll be as good as lost if you disappear too.” _

_ “And how exactly do you think he would accomplish that?” He couldn't help the irritation coloring his tone. _

_ “I don’t know, but-” Michael's voice crept uncomfortably close to pleading. " _ Gabriel _ is _ missing _ , Aziraphale." _

_ Aziraphale took a deep breath. “The collar wasn’t active when you found him, correct?” _

_ “Correct.” _

_ “Then whatever happened to Gabriel, did not happen as a direct result of Crowley’s actions." He reasoned calmly. "I’ll admit it’s possible that Crowley told him to go somewhere, but it’s on Gabriel for not telling the rest of Heaven where he’d be going. I will not leave the bookshop. You’ll know just where to find both of us. You have my word.” _

_ Michael looked down at Crowley with a concerned frown, then took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll sign him over to you. I expect you to update me once the demon is willing and able to talk about what happened.” She waved her hand in Crowley’s direction, then walked around to stand in front of him, next to Aziraphale. She reached down and took hold of the leash, the chain extended as necessary as she rose. Her tone shifted back to her more common, curt and proper tone. “Demon Crowley, sit up.” _

_ Crowley sat back on his heels, his eyes closed. _

_ Michael rolled her own eyes at the demon. “Open your eyes.” Crowley obeyed, and Michael snapped her fingers. A small stack of papers appeared in mid air, suspended by miracle until Michael plucked them from the space in front of her. “Once these papers are signed, Aziraphale will be your new keeper. Do you understand?” _

_ Crowley’s eyes widened. He nodded slowly. “Yes, ma’am.” _

_ She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a golden fountain pen. She offered it to Aziraphale along with the documents, and gestured for him to sit at her desk. Aziraphale took them and sat down. He read over the contract, horrified by some of the very precise - yet still open to malicious interpretation - wording of the aforementioned ‘expanded allowances’ which Aziraphale knew Gabriel took full advantage of abusing. _

_ Once the papers were signed, he stood up, and Michael looked over them with a nod. She held the document out, and Aziraphale took hold of the opposite edge. Michael pulled the papers toward her, and it miraculously split into two identical copies. She placed hers in her desk drawer. Aziraphale folded his and tucked them inside his jacket. _

_ Michael turned to Crowley. “That should be all, Aziraphale. Let me know if you wish to resign as his keeper, should you change your mind.” _

_ “If he’s less than perfect under my watch, I shall let you know.” Aziraphale gave her a weak smile before turning to Crowley with a sharp gaze. He tried to sound strict and intimidating. “I don’t suspect that will become a problem though, will it, Crowley?” _

_ Crowley still looked stunned, but the shift in Aziraphale’s tone made the demon appear nearly afraid. He shook his head in small, rapid movements. “I’ll be perfect, master. I’ll obey.” _

_ The title made Aziraphale wish he could drop the whole act right then and there.  _

Not much longer now. We’ll be home soon.

_ Michael nodded in approval. She handed the leash to Aziraphale. “Would you like a lift home?” _

_ “No, thank you. I think it’s best we leave the way we arrived. You’ll have less angels fearing the demon is still here in Heaven, that way.” Aziraphale gave her a half-bow in respect and turned to leave the office. “Come along, Crowley.” A couple gentle tugs on the leash told the demon not to dawdle. _

_ Crowley swiftly rose to his feet and followed Aziraphale without a word. Aziraphale walked towards the exit of Heaven.  _

_ He made it halfway there when something occurred to him. He turned on his heels and walked right back to Michael’s office. Crowley looked confused and saddened as Aziraphale tried his best not to yank at the demon’s neck with the leash, but he didn’t want to be caught being too kind. _

_ Michael looked as confused as Crowley had when they returned to her office. Crowley knelt down, and Aziraphale could see him trembling out of the corner of his eye. _

_ “Did you change your mind already, Principality?” _

_ “No, something I forgot, is all. I would like control over the demon’s wings. The manual said something about Archangel approval being required. How do I go about that? I didn’t see a button on the collar or remote to submit any sort of request, at the time.” _

_ Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you require that level of control? You have authority to use his rings for restraint.” _

_ “Ah, yes, but I’m afraid that doesn’t keep him from knocking things over. Here in Heaven, not much to disturb. Not so in my shop.” _

_ She considered the reason for a few moments, then pulled out a laptop from her desk. “I can unlock his wing control, but he’d be able to  _ fully _ control them. He  _ could _ bring them out to harm you.” _

_ Aziraphale frowned. “The collar would punish him for such an action, would it not?” _

_ “It would, but you’d already be hurt by the time it fires.” Michael looked at Crowley with distaste. “You’ll be punishing him via collar mostly?” _

_ “That is the plan currently, yes.” _

_ “I could lock them away for you? You’d have to make a trip up here to see me if you wanted access again.” _

_ “I trust that the demon wouldn’t harm me, so I would prefer they remain unlocked. But if that is what you are most comfortable doing, then I suppose it will suffice for now.” Aziraphale sounded annoyed. He shrugged his shoulders and sighed, hoping his nonchalant attitude might change her mind.  _

_ Michael opened the laptop and clicked away at it. She stood up and walked over to Crowley. “Wings away, demon.” Crowley obeyed immediately, and flinched when she reached forward, then pressed and held a few buttons on the collar’s edge. He looked braced for pain, and relieved when Michael let him go. _

_ Crowley's frame appeared so much more frail without his wings to conceal himself. He had always been sleeker than most, but now he was bordering on skeletal, lines that were once handsome physique had turned worrisome in their sunken depths. _

_ She walked back to her desk, typed and navigated through on the laptop some more, then looked up at Aziraphale. “That’s it. You should be all set to go.” _

_ Aziraphale gave her another half-bow. “Thank you, Archangel Michael. We’ll be on our way back to Earth now.” _

_ “Good luck, Principality,” she offered as they left her office. _

_ Aziraphale didn’t turn around or slow his pace this time. They left Heaven swiftly, and once through the gate to Earth, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and brought them back to the bookshop. _

_ Crowley looked more relaxed, but only slightly.  _

_ Aziraphale disconnected the leash, removed the collar remote and contract from his pockets, and walked to his desk to store the items safely away there. He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the door.  _

_ Crowley hadn’t moved since they teleported, other than awkwardly looking around and holding one elbow in a meek, uncertain stance. _

_ “I believe you made soup and some bread while I slept? I think some of that would hit the spot right about now, after all that nonsense. Let’s take a break and relax for what’s left of the evening, hm?” Aziraphale started to walk toward the kitchen. _

_ “I’ll get it for you.” Crowley sounded eager, but also hurried, nervous. He moved to bolt past Aziraphale, and was grabbed by the arm before he could make it very far. Crowley immediately froze and closed his eyes, turning his face away and hissing out softly. “I-I’m sorry, master.” _

_ “Crowley, you have no reason to be sorry. And please… don’t use that word for me, dear. I’m not your master.”  _

_ A shiver ran down Crowley’s frame, painfully visible without wings to hide within. “Yes, sir.” _

_ Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley, you really don’t have to call me anything like that.” _

_ Crowley’s eyes opened; he looked saddened and hurt, confused and desperate. There was a terrible urgency there, like losing sanctuary among those you had believed meant safety.  _

_ “I-I don’t know-” _

_ “Of course, you may call me whatever makes you most comfortable, dear.” Aziraphale reached out and gently cradled Crowley’s chin, tilting the demon’s face to look at him. He gently turned the dial on the collar down until the screen displayed 01. Crowley sighed and the tension in his shoulders faded away. _

_ ”Thank you, sir,” Crowley breathed. The small glimmer of panic was still there, tinting his expression slightly, but beneath the panic was hope that hadn’t been there before. “You wanted soup? I can get it for you.” _

_ Aziraphale studied Crowley for a moment. He really had been hoping Crowley wouldn’t need to call him by anything other than his name. What he would’ve given to hear him say ‘angel’ instead.  _

He was just forced back to Heaven, where Gabriel put him through only the Almighty knows what, and such language was no doubt expected of him. I’d imagine it’s not an easy mindset to break free from. 

_ The knowledge didn’t make the title any less painful to hear, but he couldn’t force Crowley to stop, not after that face he’d made. _

_ Not with Crowley gazing up at him with optimism so fragile in his eyes now, a butterfly could’ve shattered it with a single flap of its wings. _

_ “I stopped you before so I could suggest that you lie down, Crowley. If you want anything from the kitchen,  _ I _ can get it for  _ you _. You had a more emotionally draining time up there than I did.” Aziraphale spoke with soft patience, wishing Crowley would allow himself the rest, but knowing deep down that he’d insist. _

He’s always put himself behind my comfort and happiness. How do I get him to slow down, now?

_ “It’s okay. I want to get it for you.” Crowley glanced nervously toward the kitchen. Aziraphale heard the demon whisper, “Please, sir?” _

_ Aziraphale relented with a sigh. He gave Crowley a tired smile before letting go. “Alright, I will be upstairs in the living room. Just a cup, please. I only want to calm my nerves.” Crowley scampered off to the kitchen, and Aziraphale sighed again, retreating to his favorite spot on the end of the couch. _

_ It was going to take far more than a cup of soup to do it, but at least the soup was a start. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I really appreciate all the comments and feedback so much!
> 
> Chapter 9 will arrive on January 13th! 
> 
> See you all in the New Year!
> 
> Update Jan 14th: Due to some personal issues, I was unable to update yesterday. Chapter 9 is not yet fully edited and I'm currently not sure when it will be done. I'll upload it when I'm able to, but it may be a while. I apologize for the delay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you for all the wonderful support and comments on chapter 8!
> 
> I do apologize for the delay. I hope you are all ready for chapter 9. 
> 
> A big thank you, as always, to [DreamsofSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsofSpike) and [Dacelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin) for support, beta work, and feedback! And thank you to [Mevima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima), who is a full beta now as well!
> 
> Special shoutout to The Repossessed Discord server! You guys really are the absolute best! (More info on the server below the chapter in the end notes!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is torture in this chapter.

Crowley collapsed to the ground the moment Gabriel released his arm, causing the familiar to retract its piercing grip from Crowley's shoulder. It flew to a silver bar at the end of the wooden desk. The pain in his right foot was so bright now that he wasn’t sure he could stand back up if he tried. Instead, he shifted his legs under himself until he was kneeling, hoping the submissive stance would be allowed.

He wished the damage he'd done to himself while the mark was being replaced had been enough to distract him from the throbbing, fiery burn of it on his lower back.

Or from the ache of hopelessness deep within his soul.

He could still feel Aziraphale and Gabriel holding him down, phantom whispers of pressure that Crowley tried to brush away with gentle sweeps of his own fingers over his arms and legs. His nerves didn't seem able to forget the sensation. 

He could still smell the holy scent enveloping him, filling him with the instinct to run, to _get away._

Crowley looked up from the floor slightly, just enough to see Gabriel’s face. Calm, unblinking violet eyes stared down at him, looking more like a snake in the grass than Crowley’s own ever had. He didn't dare turn his gaze enough to see them from more than his peripheral vision, but that only added to the stalking, predatory quality of Gabriel's eyes.

“I haven’t ordered you to kneel, Crowley. Rise.”

He struggled to obey the command. Every muscle in his body still wavered from the steady pulse of the collar around his neck, and his right foot silently shrilled in protest whenever he put any amount of weight on it. Standing proved as difficult as he had anticipated, but once he was up he was able to bend his right knee slightly and use his left to hold his actual weight.

Gabriel shook his head in mild disapproval, clicking his tongue softly as he circled the other demon. Crowley was prepared to be struck right back to the ground again, but to his surprise, Gabriel waved a hand down toward Crowley’s foot, swiftly healing the injury, then reached out and turned the collar down to its lowest setting. Immediate relief drew a sigh from Crowley, although he had no time to relish it, Gabriel was already leaning in, ever threatening despite the sweetness of his tone.

“You know how I feel about you causing yourself pain, sweetheart.”

“I do, master. I’m sorry.”

“If you want a broken foot,” Gabriel tilted Crowley’s face up to look at him, his expression and tone a ghost of kindness, “all you have to do is ask. I’d be more than happy to make an afternoon of it at your request.” He tucked Crowley’s hair behind his ear gently with a smile. “I understand you were overcome with emotions so you just couldn’t help yourself this time. But…”

Gabriel moved behind Crowley and grabbed his hair firmly, lowering his voice to a deep, threatening growl.

“Any damage you do to yourself without my permission or instruction, sweetheart… I will do to Aziraphale, and you will watch. Is that clear?”

Anxiety seized Crowley's heart at the realization that Gabriel's threat was now all too easy for him to act upon. “Yes, master.”

“Very good.” Gabriel ran a possessive hand over his back and shoulders. The touch slipped down to trace teasingly over the mark, in a pattern which Crowley unfortunately knew now spelled out the word ‘slave.’

Crowley had never noticed before that Gabriel would touch any of the lines in particular, but suffering through having the mark put back and knowing what it said gave Crowley information he wished he’d been able to stay blind to.

It made sense that Gabriel would favor touching that word over the two names burned into his flesh, but knowing it for certain made the touch even more upsetting. Thinking about it almost made Crowley miss Gabriel’s next equally light, teasing words.

“I've waited long enough. Show me your wings, sweetheart.”

A shiver ran the length of his spine at the order. Crowley had no doubt Gabriel felt it just before he swallowed his fear and obeyed.

As soon as his wings were out, Gabriel released the tight grip on Crowley's hair and moved to his neck, pressing and holding several buttons on the collar. 

Crowley's wings twitched reflexively to protect himself from danger. It was nearly a single flap, the start of a motion meant to put both height and distance between himself and potential attackers. He halted the motion before it could generate enough lift to move him, and kept the limbs extended. 

"That's it. Don't relax them. Don't pull them in. You remember what to do."

Gabriel’s hands shifted down his spine to the base of his wings, then pressed outwards through his feathers. Gabriel’s body brushed against Crowley's back as he extended his arms to reach further, his head resting in the curve of Crowley’s neck and shoulder. Crowley could feel the grin against his skin, could feel the warmth of the other demon's breath as he exhaled a deep sigh. 

A sigh of contentment, and of relief.

Though Gabriel was fully clothed and Aziraphale was no longer here to watch, this still managed to feel like a violation just as brutal as before. There was a tenderness, a sensuality, almost reverence to the touches; the motions and intensity spoke to an emotion that might have been close to desperation.

_Longing._

Crowley closed his eyes, remembering his glorious view of Aziraphale sitting on the bed, just after snapping out of his haze of confusion caused by the holy water soaked leather. He'd been so relieved it wasn't Gabriel, back then. He'd wanted to curl up in his angel’s warmth and hold on in the fear that it wasn’t real and might vanish if he blinked.

_Yeah, this is almost like that. Did I make Aziraphale feel this hollow, holding on to him like he belonged to me?_

Crowley felt smothered, claustrophobic. He wanted nothing more than to squirm away from Gabriel's reach.

Gabriel’s hands wandered over the expanse of feathers, sliding between and under them to make contact with Crowley’s skin below. It was as if he was attempting to commit every inch to memory, or perhaps he was revelling in all the memories of the times his hands had been there before. Memories Crowley couldn’t help but feel suffocated by with every passing second.

Gabriel ran a hand down the top ridge of Crowley’s wing and froze when he reached the joint, his entire body tensing up. Crowley’s eyes flew open, staring down at the desk in front of him.

“Did you beg your boyfriend to remove your rings, too, sweetheart?” There was warmth against Crowley's skin, the heat and vibration of words breathed too closely.

Crowley barely shook his head, wanting to express himself before his fear subsided enough to form a coherent response, but daring to move no more than was strictly necessary. “I-I removed them myself, master.”

“Oh, did you?” Gabriel sounded casual, almost bored in the way Crowley had only ever heard him use just before becoming violent. There was an empty falseness to it that made Crowley’s skin crawl.

The eagle let out a piercing cry from its perch at the far end of the desk. Crowley looked up enough to see its wings were spread slightly, its body hunched in a threatening stance. He felt a huff of breath against his neck as Gabriel looked up at the familiar.

“He really doesn’t like having the second most stunning plumage in the room.” Gabriel's voice was light and teasing. He spoke of the familiar in the same way many would speak about a mildly disobedient pet. 

_Only the familiar_ is Gabriel, _so that can only mean…_

There were several long, tense breaths where Gabriel did not touch Crowley nor speak a single word. Gabriel was surely watching Crowley with intent now. He felt stuck in place between the two violet stares, a natural predator in front of him and a demonic nightmare behind him. 

Then, Gabriel resumed touching Crowley’s wings. It was no longer admiration or whatever twisted obsession Gabriel had been expressing or letting out before. The touch was gentle, rearranging feathers he'd recently displaced back into proper order, but it was absolutely a threat now. 

A promise of destruction.

Crowley was suddenly thrown forward and pinned to the desk by a firm pressure between his wings, while Gabriel viciously tore feathers from him by the handful, making Crowley cry out. He wished he could bite onto his own arm to more easily silence himself, but Crowley knew it would only set the collar off and displease Gabriel. He clenched his jaw shut instead and tried to focus on the pressure of it, rather than the sudden pull and pain of feathers being torn from his skin

He couldn't help the small, involuntary beats of his wings no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to flap them _hard,_ he wanted to knock Gabriel off him and fly away. He could do it so easily.

_What would I even fly away to now? Just because I can… It means nothing. I can't leave Aziraphale behind._

“I don’t think you’d dare hurt _me_ with these, would you?”

“I wouldn’t, master.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. You do know that the suffering for your willful disobedience won’t be yours, anymore, right? Now that I have you _and_ Aziraphale, well, I don’t see too many reasons to hurt you for poor behavior.”

Crowley winced and swallowed; the thought made him feel cold with dread. Gabriel fussed over a few stray feathers that had been broken, rather than plucked.

“You were so _close_ to passing that test with Michael. You wouldn’t want to bring down that kind of punishment on your precious angel, would you? Hellfire does have some interesting properties that I've been _really_ wanting to test out.”

“I’ll obey, master! I promise.” Crowley felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

“I am sure you will, sweetheart." The weight on his back lifted and Gabriel threatened, a low rumble, “Don’t you dare move.”

Crowley remained still. Gabriel slowly fisted his hands at the very top of each wing, gripping plumage where the rings would have emerged from his joints. He stayed there like that, unmoving for several tense breaths, making his next attack clear and waiting to see if Crowley would falter.

Both fistfuls were ripped out at once, and Crowley’s wings gave an involuntary twitch. "Do you think anyone here in Hell will do anything to save you, sweetheart?" Gabriel questioned him, taunting cruelly.

The hands shifted to seal a new grip on fresh feathers elsewhere. 

"I don't think so, master," Crowley rushed to respond, shaking his head slightly but staying otherwise as still as he could despite the pain. 

Gabriel yanked his hands back, ripping out more plumage. Again, Crowley couldn't keep the assaulted limbs completely still, was terrified that the other demon would do far worse if he didn't control himself. 

"And what about Aziraphale? You think he stands a chance to save you?" Gabriel traced his fingers teasingly over Crowley’s wings before grasping onto healthy feathers once more.

"I don't think so, master." 

Crowley was barely able to speak through clenched teeth. He was grateful that Gabriel's pace had slowed enough that Crowley could prepare for each new attack. Although the suddenness made it hard not to react, Gabriel didn't seem to mind the slight fluttering tremble that Crowley was unable to prevent.

Another swift tug and flash of pain, another flinch. "Do you think a _single angel_ will come looking for your precious boyfriend?" 

"I don't think so, master."

Gabriel abruptly switched tactics. Instead of grabbing whole handfuls, he held the tip of Crowley’s right wing against the desk and firmly gripped one primary feather near the base. Fingertips barely brushed Crowley’s skin, a teasing touch just before he slowly pulled until the feather gave way from his flesh, removing it without saying a word. 

The pain was so intense that Crowley nearly pushed himself from the desk before becoming suddenly aware of how poorly that would end for him. He flattened back down towards the wooden surface with a pitiful whimper.

Gabriel loomed over him. “We aren’t going to _need_ those rings here in Hell, are we, sweetheart?” His tone was critical, warning, but not yet angered. There was a delicate danger to the question, like a spiderweb strung up between branches.

“N-no, master.”

“ _No_?” 

Caught. 

Gabriel growled, pressing Crowley's head brutally against the hard surface. “Have you forgotten _everything?_ Do we need to start from scratch?”

“I’m sorry, master. I haven’t forgotten, I promise,” Crowley hissed out between teeth clenched in panic. “I-I don’t need the rings to be-behave.”

“That’s what I hoped you would say. Okay, then." Gabriel stood back and folded his hands in front of himself, almost reserved. "Compose yourself, or ask politely for help.”

Crowley gripped the edges of the desk and wished he had something to bite down on. He took a deep breath and forced himself to stop trembling by tensing his muscles, then relaxing with the exhale. He felt Gabriel return to his side and pin the tip of his wing to the desktop, then began pulling on the next primary feather, the third one, skipping a feather between. 

Crowley regretted his choice already. He'd said it to please his master, and now Gabriel was going to be furious when he couldn't keep calm or still enough. 

_I want the rings back, master. I thought you'd put them back anyways. I didn't think you'd- I don't think I can-_

The panic overwhelmed him and he cried out before thinking.

“M-master?” 

Crowley flinched, certain calling attention to himself was a mistake.

The pull at his feather halted immediately.

“Yes, Crowley?” Gabriel's voice was calm, expectant.

"P-pleasse, master, I… I don't know if I can hold still."

The hand pinning his wing to the desk shifted to run down Crowley's spine. It stopped over the mark, tracing the lines briefly before resting there. Gabriel petted through Crowley's hair soothingly with the other. 

"What do you need to do then, sweetheart?" Gabriel's tone was casual and light, encouraging without any hint of impending violence. The insistent, teasing touch over his mark served as the threat his voice didn't need to carry.

"Please, master. Would you be willing to restrain me?" Crowely dared a glance up at Gabriel, trying to gauge through the silence if he should continue to beg. The expression he saw was too patient, too observingly neutral to glean anything from it. "I want to please you, master, but don't know if I'll be able to keep still."

_You know how much of a failure I am. Please put them back._

A reassuring calm spread through him then, blooming from the mark and quickly washing over his entire form. Crowley felt his muscles relax and a swirl of satisfaction and pride overwhelmed him for a blissful few seconds. The sensation and emotions faded as Gabriel lifted his hand from Crowley's lower back. Crowley hated how much his heart ached from the loss of the comfort.

"That's my slave." 

Gabriel gently moved Crowley's hands, stretching them out to either side, encouraging him to grip the edges of the desk, then nudged his feet apart. A snap echoed off the bare office walls, and Crowley found his legs bound to the legs of the desk. His arms were bound in place by ropes that ran beneath the desk as well as to the bar that Gabriel's familiar perched upon. He tried to bring his hands together or pull his arms back down towards himself and found the motion impossible; Crowley could hold on to the edges of the desk with his arms spread wide, and do little else. 

Crowley had no leverage to lift himself from the desk surface. He'd have to keep his wings still himself, but Gabriel had held him down effectively. He breathed out a sigh of relief at having the opportunity to fail mostly removed from him. 

"Thank you, master."

Gabriel responded with another brief touch to his mark, accompanied by a wave of approval. At the same time his other hand snapped and offered up a bunched up cloth rag near Crowley’s face. Crowley opened his mouth and bit down on it, careful not to catch Gabriel's fingers in the process. He’d been wary of what it might taste like, considering they were in Hell now, but it merely felt dry against his tongue; there was no odor or anything else foul at play.

Just the merciful gift of being able to please his master.

_That's all that matters now. Please master and keep Aziraphale safe._

"Now, where was I?” Gabriel laughed softly. ”That’s right! Aziraphale… you should know as well as I do… no one in Heaven cares about _him_.”

Each pause in his words was only there for Gabriel to punctuate it with the sharp loss of one of his beautiful feathers. Crowley thought Gabriel might be done when the pressure holding his right wing to the desk let up. Crowley released the cloth with a ragged exhale, thankful the pain was over. 

He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, heaved lungfuls of air and struggled to focus on anything other than the throbbing of his wings. If he kept breathing, it was bearable. He could almost believe that each breath brought him closer to making it through, overcoming the torture until the throbbing stopped entirely. 

Rough fabric was pressed back into his mouth, cutting off Crowley’s lifeline for handling the pain and shattering his hope that Gabriel was done. He looked up to see an expression on Gabriel that dared him to resist, to refuse, to make it worse. Crowley closed his mouth around the gag and swallowed, prepared for more. He almost whimpered in despair, knowing it wasn’t over yet, but managed to stop the sound from escaping.

Gabriel nodded, seemingly satisfied, then switched sides and held Crowley's left wing against the desk. The same agonizing process started over again. With his practice from the first wing, Gabriel had learned exactly what level of pressure and what length of time was required to achieve his goal.

It was no surprise to Crowley that Gabriel used this information to make the left wing take as long as possible.

"So… you really won't be needing these from now on, then…" Two more feathers gone; just as Gabriel had done on the right wing, he skipped a primary each time, plucking every other feather. Gabriel kept speaking like nothing important was happening, as if Crowley's flesh wasn't being flayed from within as each feather was removed. "There's nowhere to fly here in Hell."

_How many did he do on my right? Five? Fucking Heaven… He's pulling half my bloody primaries._

As the pressure on the third feather increased, Crowley bit back down on the cloth to muffle what would have otherwise been a wail. He managed to hold back tears, but only barely.

"I'm the only one who will listen to you now."

The fourth was an alarming, insistent pressure that Gabriel had finally perfected. Crowley felt the skin start to rip before his body registered the pain, an odd disconnect of sensations. Gabriel relented just in time to let Crowley have a cruel break partway through. The feather hung on by enough skin to make Crowley's resolve not to cry give way to a flood of tears that it wasn't _over._ Gabriel stopping had effectively forced Crowley to feel the feather being torn from him twice, rather than in one merciful, swift tug. 

_Just finish it. Please._

"I will be taking care of both of you now."

Gabriel pulled out the last feather in the same terrible way that the fourth had been done, before he transitioned to soothing touches in the wake of the torture. 

“If you think about it… you being the only one who has ever cared for him is what damned him to this in the end. You could have given him up long ago. If you did… he'd be reading his silly books right now." 

Gabriel took a seat at his desk after he gathered up the primary feathers he had placed aside. Crowley hadn’t been aware they were _being_ _collected._ Gabriel pinched the edge of one wing, gave it a few light tugs. 

"Flap them."

Crowley already knew what to expect, but the order couldn't be ignored. He gave a half dozen or so strong flaps. Smaller coverts and secondary feathers - ones Gabriel had pulled out by the fistful - were kicked into the air around the desk. Crowley wouldn't have been able to fully lift himself from the desk anyway, considering his bindings, but he felt barely any wind pressure at all. 

Crowley sprawled limply across the desk as he stared at the small dark bundle in the other demon’s grasp, horrified by what had just been taken from him. Gabriel looked at Crowley with a satisfied smirk. His fingers played with the primaries in his hands.

The rings grinding between his joints had been painful enough to prevent flight, but it was mostly a dull pain he could ignore when he wasn't actively moving the affected joints. Even though the modification procedure for setting the rings had been agony, it had been over relatively fast, and only had to be done once.

This was entirely different. Even without moving his wings he could _feel_ the absence of feathers he needed to get off the ground. Crowley's heart pounded in panic at being physically _unable_ to fly. And the knowledge that the feathers would _regrow,_ which meant this excruciating procedure wouldn't be the only one. 

Of course, Gabriel could always heal the damage and make this torture as common or routine as he liked.

Gabriel did not need a reason to torture Crowley's wings, but he had one now, and the thought made Crowley's heart sink. Gabriel had threatened more than once to take Crowley's wings; Crowley had no idea an unspoken promise to repeatedly, torturously remove the comfort that he _could_ fly to safety would be so much more harrowing.

Gabriel placed the bundle of feathers aside and picked one up, inspecting it closely. He pinched the tip between his index finger and thumb. The digits heated with hellfire as he carefully moved his hand up the length of the feather, a third of the way along the shaft, his other hand twirling it as he moved. The smell of burning flesh and feathers assaulted Crowley's nostrils.

At first Crowley thought the Duke intended on burning each feather one by one until nothing remained, but Gabriel’s intense concentration over his movements and the low intensity of the hellfire made it clear that wasn’t his goal. He worked on each feather one by one before setting them aside. 

Crowley pushed the cloth gag from his mouth and tried to nudge it out of the way with his face so he could see what was happening better. Gabriel vanished the cloth when he paused between feathers, but gave Crowley a warning scowl as he did.

“I’ll bring it back and tie it in place if I hear a word out of you. Behave yourself.”

_That isn't nearly as threatening when you can't create holy water._

The mark on his back pulsed along with the throbbing in his wings, the thrum of his heart. A reminder of how wrong he was.

He didn’t _think_ Gabriel would drop what he was working on to have Aziraphale create more holy water for a gag, but the threat was more than sufficient to make Crowley obey, regardless. He meekly nodded in response, and Gabriel gave Crowley a pat on the head. He even brushed hair out of Crowley’s face so he could see better.

There were two piles of feathers on the table now. One pile, further from Gabriel, was slightly bloodied. freshly plucked. The other was cleaned and darkened by the hellfire; the tips had a dull shine to them.

Not unlike the feather Crowley had carefully sanded down with fine sandpaper, before attaching it to a box of chocolates with a black and white ribbon.

_That one bloody hurt to pluck, too. Healed it up right after, though. And Aziraphale’s smile was more than worth it._

Once Gabriel finished burning the feathers clean, he gathered them up and shifted them aside. He retrieved a small wooden box with a metallic plate inlaid into the lid from one of his desk drawers. There were several sealed glass jars inside, as well as knives of varying sizes, tweezers, and other tools suited for delicate work. He pulled a knife out and shut the lid.

Crowley stared at the blade, golden eyes wide with fear. Gabriel nearly missed it, he was so focused on his work, but his familiar flapped its wings, and Gabriel looked up to see Crowley’s expression before he was able to hide it.

A cruel, knowing smile spread across Gabriel's lips, but he only turned back to his task at hand. He took a feather and placed it on the metallic inlay of the wooden box, then carved into it, cutting a diagonal slice off the end before removing any inner debris. Finally, he carefully cut a specifically shaped tip with a single slice up the center.

_He’s making quills out of my primaries._

Angels and demons did _not_ do that. Even Aziraphale, who found all manner of human things charming, only used human-crafted quills when they were in style, and had swiftly made the leap to the fountain pen once they’d been invented. Quickest he’d ever adopted any new technology, actually. The very concept of feather quills made most ethereal and occult beings uncomfortable.

_Did he get this quill-crafting set just for me? Has he always had it?_

Gabriel held the quill up closely to inspect his work before nodding and setting it aside.

Without warning, he grasped Crowley’s middle finger on the hand closest to him, still fastened to the desk edge. Gabriel pressed the tip of the knife into Crowley’s fingertip. Slowly, he dug a shallow, vertical cut into his flesh.

It thankfully didn’t hurt enough to make any noise over it. It did sting like a bitch after the initial bite, and he was sure it would take some time to heal, considering the location, but in comparison to the other pain that had been inflicted upon him so far today, this was minimal. Crowley didn’t even flinch.

Gabriel pulled the knife away and miracled it clean. He set it aside and picked up the quill, pressing the opening of the quill to Crowley’s fingertip and squeezing along the length of the digit, urging blood into the pen. This was far more uncomfortable, but Crowley was able to clench his teeth and endure it without much trouble.

Gabriel tested his creation on a scrap of paper. When finished, he held it up for Crowley to see. Gabriel had scrawled his own name elegantly in cursive on the page.

It would have been prettier if it wasn’t literally written in his blood using a pen that was ripped from his flesh.

“Yes, these are going to be perfect, once I'm done with them. Even when I'm forced to do paperwork, now, you’ll be at my fingertips.” Gabriel leaned back in his chair with a small grin, closed his eyes and sighed. One hand absently played through the remaining feathers on Crowley’s wing. “I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart. I can’t tell you how much I have missed this.”

Crowley couldn’t help feeling like his very soul was dying with each new affectionate confession Gabriel expressed.

The Duke opened his eyes and looked down at Crowley, hungrily. “And no more hiding. I can have you however I like, whenever I like.”

He said it like he didn’t fully believe it, himself. Gabriel rose from his chair and moved around behind Crowley. It wasn’t long after that that fingers gripped his buttocks, teased at his arse. Thankfully, they didn’t linger.

“Now, you know not to hurt yourself or deliberately displease me, and the consequences for Aziraphale if you do. And you know to ask for help when you need it, which you did very well to do so soon, sweetheart.” Gabriel ran an encouraging hand through Crowley’s hair. Crowley hated that the motion actually calmed him down, and combined with the words, it felt eerily similar to the kind of praise Aziraphale would give him. 

Gabriel reached forward and pulled Crowley’s right wing up between them. He looked more closely at the damage he had caused when removing the primaries. “And now flying while your wings are held out isn’t an issue…“

Crowley winced as Gabriel fussed with the injuries intently.

"Is there anything else I'm forgetting? Any other points I should be reminding you of, sweetheart?"

"I don't think so, master." Even if there were, Crowley knew better than to imply his master had made such an error.

_I should just know better. Do better._

He yelled it at his plants often enough. He knew now why they failed so often. A simple concept did not always mean a simple execution, especially under pressure. 

"Perfect. Now, keep thinking about how you are going to behave while I finish up here.”

There was no question, so Crowley only nodded.

‘Finish up here’ meant Gabriel meticulously fashioning the rest of his quills. Each one was tested using a fresh stream of blood from Crowley’s fingertips.

Ten primaries. Ten quills. Ten tiny, vertical slices into his flesh - one at the tip of each finger.

Of course, ‘finish up here’ also entailed an arduously long violation of his body once Gabriel’s art project was complete. Gabriel's pace was languid, without rush. 

All Crowley could think about was Aziraphale, now too close to danger. He needed to be perfect for Gabriel. 

_How long until Gabriel gets bored and my perfection doesn't matter?_

“Stand up and face me.” Gabriel snapped his fingers and the bindings that held Crowley to the desk vanished. Gabriel had mercifully given him a pair of black jeans as well. They were too tight, but at least they were something. 

Crowley pushed himself from the desk with wobbly, unstable arms and turned toward Gabriel. 

_This is going to be visible to everyone. The collar, the mark, my wings… he's not going to hide any of it._

Crowley had been fairly sure the rings and collar would have been concealed by a miracle or removed entirely when he was sent back to Hell to spy. Now, anyone who was able to see his wings would know he couldn't fly, and the collar and scar were both proof he had been claimed as Gabriel’s property. 

The demons of Hell might not know that the collar also meant Crowley couldn’t fight back, but the knowledge of how helpless and defenseless he was now weighed far heavier on his mind than the collar did around his neck. 

_He doesn't have Heaven holding him back anymore. If he wants all of Hell to know everything, they will._

Gabriel stepped towards his office door and swung it open. Crowley was not told to stay or follow. Dread latched on swiftly and Crowley kept pace behind Gabriel without instruction, hoping it was what Gabriel expected of him.

They left the office and walked down the hall, crowded as always, but the throng parted ways for the Duke.

All eyes seemed to be on him now, just as much as they had been in Heaven. Demons did not routinely stride through Hell with their wings exposed, let alone visibly injured. Injuries were either a display of hard-fought victory or shameful, weak defeat, and it was all too clear which Crowley was displaying as he trailed behind the higher ranking Gabriel.

The whispers were worse than in Heaven. Why was Crowley here in Hell and not maintaining his position on Earth as he’d done for millennia? Where had Crowley disappeared to for so long? Why was he following behind Gabriel when Crowley typically worked alone? What was that strange collar? Why were his wings out? Why did Crowley look like _utter shit?_

Most angels had simply wondered why Crowley was in Heaven, how long he’d be there, and if he was dangerous.

Demons were more prone to asking questions, he supposed.

Gabriel’s familiar swooped from one high perch to the next as they walked. It would glide to a pipe far down the hallway, wait and watch. Its eyes scanned the demons until both Crowley and Gabriel passed, then it would fly ahead once more. 

Demons whispered about the eagle as well. Gabriel must not have been a Duke long, as most of them were surprised by it, and several of them were unsure if it belonged to Gabriel at all.  
  
Crowley just wanted them to reach their destination soon. He hated the looks of disgust he was getting. If Hell hadn’t thought him weak before, then they certainly did now. Demons didn’t lay claim to each other like this. It was more common for demons to pair or group up to take on assignments, but that was more a result of sloth than anything else. More hands, less work for all involved. It wasn’t always efficient, but it was effective, and it never hurt to have another demon to blame for failures of a mission, or shove onto whatever weapon happened to be pointed in your general direction for your misdeeds.

They passed Hastur and Ligur; both demons looked at Crowley with dangerous curiosity. Hastur seemed especially snide while Ligur remained brooding, calculating. Crowley quickly averted his gaze and tried to focus on Gabriel’s heels.

_Just keep up with master._

He had no time to react when he felt two, thick hands grip him by the wings and shove him against an empty wall.

_Well, at least I’ll get to see Hastur and Ligur get inconveniently discorporated today._

The voice that growled in his ear was neither, however.

“What do you think you are playing at, Crawley? Sayin’ for centuries that you only work alone, then you abandon your post to partner with a _new recruit?”_

Crowley barely recognized the voice of the demon. He’d obviously told the demon off at least once, but it must’ve been so long ago now, Crowley had no recollection of the event.

Crowley heard the snap of fingers before he'd even had the chance to identify his assailant. Soon after, the demon was pulled off Crowley, and he scrambled behind Gabriel, who towered over the demon menacingly. 

Once Crowley could see him, he knew his face from around Hell; this demon had always been a little too high energy, too eager and too proud of himself. He stood unnaturally still, now.

The crowd grew hushed around them. 

A cockroach skittered out of the demon’s hair and down his neck, into his shirt. 

Time wasn’t stopped, then. Too much movement, too many murmurs around them for time to be stopped.

The demon had a glassy-eyed expression as Gabriel yanked the demon to face him. His eyes blinked, solid black. A hollow reflection of confusion or shock tried to push through the immobilization miracle and was only somewhat successful. 

“How _dare_ you put your disgusting hands on him. Are you blind? Can you not see he is _following_ _me?”_ Gabriel shoved the demon against the same wall that Crowley had just been pressed into. “Do you think so highly of yourself that you’d interrupt _my_ work?”

Gabriel’s familiar screeched above them, a slightly stilted noise that became harsh and shrill at the end of it. It ruffled its wings and stared down at the roach demon, defensive and ready to retaliate. Crowley couldn’t help wincing. He didn’t cover his ears, but many others did, as the cries echoed off the narrow hallway and metal pipework.

As soon as the bird quieted down, roach demon spoke. His words came out breathy and slow, despite his clear intent to deliver them with urgency. 

“No, I’m a nobody. Just a worthless nobody. But so’s Crawley, which is why I thought-”

“You aren’t wrong.” Gabriel leaned in with a cruel smile. “But you seem to be missing a key bit of information. Crowley is _my_ worthless nobody. The only one with any right to touch him is _me.”_

Gabriel cast his eyes across the crowd and laughed under his breath. He pushed away from the demon and remarked in a lighter, more considering tone. “But maybe I should be thanking you. You get to be the example!”

He reached out and took one of the roach demon’s hands in his own, pulling it up between them and studying it with obvious gears turning in his mind. 

The watered-down look of concern on the demon's face was likely actual horror, but his body was still out of his control.

Gabriel securely held the posed hand in one of his own and gripped the pointer finger with his other. A swift motion, yanking the digit backwards in a way it was _not_ designed to bend. The crack echoed through the nearly silent halls.

Crowley was not the only one who flinched at the sight. Roach demon might’ve done more than flinch, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t react at all beyond the clear terror in his eyes.

Gabriel had blocked his pain too.

Gabriel broke the next finger and the demon just stared wide eyed, chanting, “no,” over and over. His desperate eyes met Crowley's, pleading him to do something. 

As if he could do _anything_ to sway Gabriel.

Any of them in the vicinity _could_ have healed the roach demon. His bones would have been good as new and he’d never feel anything but some sharp tugs and oddly bent digits. 

Everyone knew that wasn’t how this was going to end. 

Another two sickening cracks. Some demons slinked away from the scene. Several more crowded closer to see what the fuss was about. Crowley spotted Hastur and Ligur looking on near the front of the crowd, a mix of twisted curiosity and dread in their eyes.

Poor roach demon was only repeating, “no, no, no,” like a broken record. He skipped and stuttered as Gabriel broke more fingers like they were twigs, and with no more pity than most would show to one, either.

“You think Crowley will help you? Hardly. Although, he’d be the first to tell you, if he could, just how much I _loathe_ that word.” Gabriel sighed as he rolled roach demon’s thumb lazily in teasing circles, as if debating on continuing.

_There’s no way that’s all he’s going to do._

Roach demon fell silent. It appeared that he believed good behavior in the wake of angering Gabriel would tip the scales. It didn’t even have a chance at leveling them. The scales were unbalanced by nature. A mild gust of wind was enough to set them in favor of Gabriel. Even Crowley’s wings, now lacking in the feathers they needed to provide lift, had the force required to shift the balance, but only ever in favor of Gabriel.

Not that Gabriel needed any external forces. He was his own force. He’d shape the world as he pleased, and he'd enjoy every moment of others falling in line beneath him. Just as he was revelling in the spectacle he was making by disfiguring roach demon's hand. 

The thumb bone snapping in Gabriel's grip made a meatier sound than the others had.

Gabriel switched to the other hand, and repeated the process slowly, taking breaks to scan his audience and drink in the horror and fascination around him. When he finished breaking every finger, Gabriel snapped each wrist. He stepped back, looking over his work. 

Roach demon switched his begging from "no" to “please.” 

Gabriel gave a satisfied smirk in response. He appeared almost pitying, giving the demon an encouraging pat on the upper arm. "There, that's a _much_ better word." Gabriel reached out and flicked at the broken fingers, then shook the demon's arms gently, causing the hands to wobble unnaturally.

Roach demon kept begging, drawing each utterance of the word out, changing up his emphasis _,_ trying to find the magic combination. 

_There isn't one._

Gabriel tilted his head with a smile, amused at the varied attempts to appease him. The satisfaction in his eyes nearly convinced Crowley that Gabriel might be done. 

Then Gabriel stepped back in and snapped each arm backwards at the elbow. 

"Please, please let me go. I'll never touch either of you again. I promise!"

"You're in luck. That's _exactly_ what I planned on doing." 

Roach demon locked eyes with Gabriel, who raised one hand, prepared to snap. "Wait! Don't! Please heal me first."

"Heal you first?" Gabriel leaned in, sneering. "What kind of example would _that_ make? Not a very effective one."

"I-I'll do anything! Please!"

"Yeah, you will." Gabriel rested his free hand on the other demon's shoulder. "Get ready to make some nice sounds for everyone watching."

"No!" The word reverberated down the hallway, leaving silence in its wake. Gabriel narrowed his eyes. Roach demon paled at his mistake, eyes desperate. "I-I mean please!" 

Gabriel snapped his fingers, freeing him. The demon crumpled to the ground in a writhing mess of screams.

Those in the crowd grimaced and whispered amongst each other. A few had grins of dark enjoyment or amusement, but the vast majority could only be described as morbidly curious. For many of them, they were overly so, their fascination bleeding over to the point of disgust.

Crowley felt distant from himself. His very presence had caused this. This demon had grabbed him rudely and shoved him against the wall, yeah, but _that_ didn’t merit _this._ He wanted to look away but feared Gabriel may become angry if he did. Gabriel had done this _over him_ after all.

It would do no good to act in any way that could be misinterpreted as unappreciative. Gabriel stepped closer to Crowley and fussed with the feathers that had been disheveled thanks to roach demon’s assault. 

The touch was too gentle, attentive and almost caring. Crowley could feel the phantoms of feathers being torn from him, and hear the echoed cracks of bones being broken in his mind.

Roach demon still pleaded for mercy below them. Crowley watched him twist in agony; he looked like he might shrivel up and die any minute. A glance toward Gabriel revealed a smug expression, proud of the destruction before him.

_Has he looked down at me like that, when I’m not looking? When I'm suffering at his feet?_

The eagle made a desperate sound, short and clipped off. It was high pitched near the end, almost like chirping. Unnaturally violet avian eyes shifted from the demon on the floor, to Gabriel. 

Gabriel snapped his fingers and abruptly held a cleaver. Roach demon saw him approach with it and tried in vain to kick out, to stand. When standing was unsuccessful, he attempted to scoot away as far as possible.

There was nowhere for him to go with the crowd closed in around them. He ended up backed against the wall again, half-sitting, half-leaning against it with fear in his eyes. His arms hung limp, broken at his sides.

Gabriel closed in, gripped one arm just above the elbow. He threw the lesser demon onto his back in the center of the clearing, and Crowley took a step away to avoid the flail of one of his mangled arms after it nearly smacked his ankle. Gabriel went down on one knee beside the roach demon; he looked over his victim appraisingly. Crowley noticed Gabriel’s familiar doing the same above them from its perch slightly down the hallway. 

“Please,” the demon rasped out, throat raw, damaged from his shrieking.

“Such a fuss. I am taking valuable time out of my day to teach you a lesson here. I even spared you the initial pain, and yet I get no gratitude at all.” Gabriel’s voice was chiding, shaking his head slowly in disappointment. His eyes darkened and tone lowered, threatening. “You’ll thank me properly after you’re shown just how merciful I’ve been.”

Roach demon’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, but he was given no time to respond. Metal glinted in the light as Gabriel brought the weapon up, then swiftly down a few inches from the wrist, near the middle of the forearm. It stuck in the bone, and the demon let out a blood-curdling scream - more throaty and hoarse than before - as Gabriel rocked it free. A second chop in the same spot finished the job that Gabriel certainly could have accomplished in one. The cleaver wedged into the concrete, sticking out at an angle, like the cover of a horror movie. Gabriel rose to his feet and choked the cries out with a foot pressed firmly into the demon’s throat.

Crowley felt his own throat spasm. He swallowed down bile. As blood from the roach demon’s arm flowed onto the floor, Crowley could feel blood draining from his face. He lowered himself into a kneel, feeling lightheaded. The sight alone was almost enough to make him pass out. Paired with the gurgling, smothered noises, it was more than grotesque.

And it had all been so _sudden,_ so barely provoked.

_If I disobey him now, Aziraphale…_

He noticed the demotivational poster on the wall beyond Gabriel.

**CHEER UP!**

REMEMBER

\- -

The Worst

IS

yet to come. 

He’d seen it in more than one hallway in the past. There were at least three different copies of that same poster throughout Hell, by his rough estimation.

Crowley knew it was only a coincidence, but it didn’t help ease the heavy weight of anxiety in his stomach.

It felt like a carefully planned threat.

Onlookers spoke in varying degrees of excitement at the display. Gabriel cast a look around them at the crowd, his expression chillingly calm, expecting all eyes on him.

He certainly had that. Roach demon had made enough of a fuss that Crowley knew anyone who hadn't been here would be lying, claiming they had been. Rumors were already high entertainment value in Hell, and true stories with multiple spectators? Ones able to be confirmed by multiple sources? Hell would be telling this one for centuries, easily. 

The story would likely be nearly unrecognizable in less than a month. Although the severity of these events wouldn’t have to be stretched nearly as much in order to match the ridiculous level of most of Hell’s rumors.

Another series of short calls from the familiar echoed down the halls. Silence fell among the crowd once more. 

Gabriel held the dismembered hand above him. "All of you lowly reptiles and insects, bottom feeders of Hell, listen up! I am above you. I am watching you, and I'm not limited to one set of eyes or ears for doing that anymore."

Gabriel tossed the hand up and a swoop of grey feathers snatched it from midair. The familiar landed on Crowley's shoulder, claws sinking in, the bloodied and broken hand clutched under one talon. Blood dripped onto his bare skin, making Crowley wince and look away from the bird.

“Crowley is _mine,_ ” Gabriel announced confidently.

Crowley heard the tearing of flesh next to his ear as the eagle picked at its meal.

"Anyone who touches him without my permission will earn themselves discorporation, and depending on my mood it may not be as swift or merciful as this one.” Gabriel stepped off the roach demon’s neck, and removed the cleaver from the ground with a scraping crunch of metal on concrete. He lifted the demon by his partially crushed throat. “Get in the way of my plans, or my slave, and you'll be getting in line for a new body." 

He looked the demon right in the eyes as he positioned the cleaver against his chest. “Understood?”

Roach demon tried to nod in Gabriel’s grasp, his voice thin and weak. “Yes. Please.”

Gabriel raised a single brow. “And…?”

“T-thank you. For t-teaching me a lesson. For y-your mercy. Thank you.” Tears flowed down his cheeks, sincerity and relief in every broken, heart-wrenching utterance. 

“Anytime,” Gabriel replied with a bright, corporate smile as he shoved the blade in, directly through the demon's heart, then dumped the lifeless corpse aside when the light faded from his eyes. 

Gabriel waved a hand over the corpse. “Someone dump this in one of the hellhound cages. And then the rest of you, back to work! Show’s over!” Gabriel barked over the restless crowd.

Crowley saw Hastur and Ligur scurry off, neither of them eager to be in Gabriel’s line of sight long after he had ordered everyone to scatter.

That over and done with, Gabriel stalked down the hall, and Crowley rose to his feet, following wordlessly. The eagle’s talons dug in, spearing him painfully, but the dreadful sounds of ripping flesh and cracking bone thankfully paused as he moved; the bird seemed to be concentrating on watching strangers with a dangerous stare. 

It was not lost on Crowley just how easily that roach demon could have been _him_ instead. Since Gabriel was a Duke now, he could easily order Crowley a new body. Discorporation didn’t mean losing his slave anymore. The limits of his cruelty had risen so much higher, now.

_The worst is yet to come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I really appreciate all the comments and feedback so much!
> 
> I currently don't have an estimate for chapter 10. 
> 
> I assure you all that I am still working on Invalidations. I hope to have an idea of a schedule in a chapter or two, but right now I'm just not certain I wouldn't have to delay again! 
> 
> If you'd like updates on when the next chapters are due out, I will need trying to announce them a day or two in advance over on [The Repossessed](https://discord.gg/nHNHAyyqBy) Discord server.
> 
> We're a Discord server for all of us Repoverse, Descent Into Perdition and other dark GO fans out there to collect, share fic recommendations, chat, stream artwork creation, and hang out! We occasionally have movie nights and live readings as well! We are an entirely 18+, choose to warn server, so fans of dark works can speak freely about their ideas. 
> 
> We are very much hoping you'll join us in creating a little community! If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me on Discord. (Or via any of the contact methods listed on my profile) I'm Latromi #9997.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Welcome back! Thank you for all the wonderful support and comments on chapter 9! Sorry I haven't responded to them yet. That will happen, I promise!
> 
> I hope you are all ready for chapter 10. 
> 
> A big thank you, as always, to [DreamsofSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsofSpike), [Dacelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin), and [Mevima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima) for support, beta work, and feedback! 
> 
> Special shoutout to The Repossessed Discord server! You guys really are the absolute best! (More info on the server below the chapter in the end notes!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings for this chapter.

Beelzebub heard the knock on the door and sighed over the half-read report in their grasp. They ignored the first knock and hoped whoever it was would go away.

It was nearly impossible for a day in Hell to be interruption free. Beelzebub had long ago stopped dreaming of making it through reports without something pulling them away from the already stunningly boring chore. On the bad days it was just another load of reports added to the pile. On the terrible ones? Explosions, mass discorporations, leaks, escapes, or strikes all topped the list for most memorably infuriating to deal with.

Some minor distractions might have been simply a temptation in disguise if Beelzebub hadn't been perpetually behind in the task. They tried to refocus on the smudged ink - or at least they hoped it was ink - but soon found their ears once more assaulted by knuckles rapping on metal.

They sighed again.

_This had better be worth my time._

They set the paperwork aside and lazily walked around their desk, a massive thing that dwarfed most others in Hell and appeared even larger thanks to their small stature. Beelzebub had intended on answering the door by hand, right up until the moment when they heard the third set of knocks.

The last time someone had knocked this insistently, it had been a pile of excrement left by some new recruits who thought they were very clever. Oh yes, so very original - a steaming pile of dung being left for the demon whose familiar was a swarm of flies.

If no other demon in six thousand years had ever come up with the prank before, then Beelzebub would’ve had far bigger problems than poo and paperwork.

Beelzebub had treated them to the equally original sentence of a swift discorporation and five hundred years of janitorial work. It had been some time since the last janitor. At least three circles no longer had functioning washrooms, and the resulting leaks meant records had needed to be moved more times than they cared to count.

They backtracked slightly and leaned against the edge of their desk, then gestured vaguely in the direction of the door to unlock and open it.

Gabriel stepped into the office, dressed impeccably as always. Behind him was Crowley, with Gabriel's familiar perched on his shoulder. 

There was a sweeping blur of grey as the eagle took flight and perched high up on top of one of Beelzebub’s bookshelves. It was weighed down by something as it flew. The bird reached down and tore a chunk from between its talons, then threw its head back to devour the flesh before lowering its beak for more.

_Did it just rip off a thumb? Is that a_ hand? _What the-?_

Beelzebub looked at Gabriel, then Crowley. All hands were accounted for. So some other poor sucker, then. It was definitely a hand, though.

Although Crowley might not have been missing limbs, he did not appear well. Crowley looked like- well, he looked like Hell, but that was a meaningless descriptor once you'd _lived_ there a while; nobody in Hell needed the reminder of their reality nor the insult. His normally casual stance was lower, hunched slightly. He wore black jeans and a dark metal collar, but nothing else, no flashy snakeskin boots, no fancy watch or belt. Beelzebub wasn’t sure they’d seen Crowley without sunglasses in several _thousand_ years. 

His wings were out, and several chunks of feathers were missing. The injuries were fresh; Beelzebub could see fresh blood around a few of his missing primaries. Gabriel's familiar had done a number on his shoulder with its talons as well.

And on top of everything, something smelled _holy._

It could have been Gabriel, but even when he was an Archangel he had usually reeked of human scents more often than angelic ones. For someone who never seemed concerned with Earth matters, he kept up with their fashion and grooming habits fastidiously. Gabriel’s office had gained a bit of a holy funk just after he had moved some stuff down from Heaven, but that hadn't lingered long. Either Gabriel had disliked the reminder and vanished the odor, or time and the ex-Archangel’s obsessive cleanliness had taken care of it for him.

Crowley, on the other hand, normally had a slight odor of goodness. It _was_ an occupational hazard of thwarting Heavenly plans, and one of the many reasons Earth agents were rarely promoted past a certain rank. Nobody up top wanted to be breathing in the calming scents of newborn kittens and fresh flowers.

Crowley often smelled like _those,_ too… well, the flowers at the very least. But this time he utterly _reeked of holy stench._ Beelzebub wondered if it was the metal around his neck. It didn’t look Hellish in design, too clean. Was the metal forged in holy water? Crowley’s neck didn’t appear burnt or reddened.

_An odd accessory and pleasant scent, most would say._

Which was nothing but unpleasant as far as Hell was concerned.

“Gabriel.” Beelzebub acknowledged the other demon with a nod of their head. 

“Beelzebub!” Gabriel clasped his hands together excitedly. “Big things happening! Glad I was able to see you.” 

Beelzebub crossed their arms across their chest. “What iszz Crowley doing here? And does your familiar have a _hand?”_

Gabriel gave a dismissive wave of his own hand. “Oh, don’t mind _him."_ It wasn't clear if the Duke was referring to the bird or Crowley, but he gave Beelzebub no time to ask for clarification. "Crowley is mine now. Someone on the way here didn’t understand and dared to stop him from following me. So he volunteered to be the first example of what _not_ to do. Pretty considerate of him, so eager to lend…" Gabriel laughed briefly at his own joke, held up a hand pointedly and gestured toward the eagle as he composed himself. "Well, you know the saying. Not often you get good help here in Hell, so I took him up on the offer. Familiars gotta eat, right?”

Beelzebub knew the expression on their face said something along the lines of _‘what the actual_ _fuck_ are you _on_ about?’. If such a look wasn’t already a semi-permanent feature at this point, it might've given their opinion away. Thankfully, they found everyone incredibly dimwitted and annoying.

“No, actually. They don’t,” they drawled out cautiously.

“Well, maybe _yours_ don’t sound any different when they want something. _Mine_ screeches, B." He shook his head, grimacing mildly. "You’d feed it too.”

“Right… and Crowley?”

“I told you I’d get him back, didn’t I?” Gabriel spoke proudly, and as if everything about this situation was normal when it very much was _not._

“You might have failed to mention the part where he’szz following you around like a broken puppy.”

“He’s not _broken,_ Beelz. He’s _trained.”_ Gabriel stalked around Crowley and tapped on one wing. “Extend it.”

Crowley stretched the wing outward, but glanced nervously at Beelzebub, clearly unsure about following orders in front of the Prince of Hell. Gabriel ran a thoughtful hand through Crowley’s feathers before settling on the first secondary, right at the bend of the wing.

“I want this one. Give it to me. Do it just like I did these.” Gabriel swept a hand through what was left of Crowley’s primary feathers. “No need to rush.” 

Crowley’s eyes shot up to meet Gabriel’s, wide and terrified. Gabriel patted Crowley’s cheek with a satisfied grin. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not going to leave you to suffer very long.”

_Suffer? From one feather?_

Not that Beelzebub _had_ the feathers for an accurate comparison. Their own wings were far more delicate, not at all suited for display down here in Hell. The iridescence would've been easy fodder for a slew of jokes, they were certain. Only Lucifer and Dagon had ever laid eyes on them. 

Crowley nodded weakly, then grabbed onto the feather. He hesitated and gave the Duke a pleading look. 

Gabriel’s voice darkened. “You _are_ still trained, aren’t you? This should be a simple demonstration, Crowley. I could shift my plans for tomorrow and remove every single feather from _him_ if you don’t want to.” 

“I’ll do it. I’m sorry, master,” Crowley insisted hurriedly. 

He closed his eyes and started pulling on the feather. Gabriel stepped away to give Beelzebub a better view. 

Beelzebub watched as Crowley slowly tugged, then abruptly flinched and tensed with what appeared to be a sudden onslaught of pain from nowhere. There was a shift of light, a glow near Crowley’s neck, from a small screen that now displayed an 08 on the collar. Crowley fell to his knees with a whimper and continued to pull until the feather was free. Gabriel held out his hand for it, and Crowley placed it carefully in the other demon’s grasp before curling up into a trembling ball on the floor.

Gabriel strode over to Beelzebub. “See? Far better like this than before, right?” He twirled the feather slowly in his grasp, then snapped his fingers, shaping the tip into a quill. Once he reached the desk, Gabriel leaned over Beelzebub to place the offering just behind them. 

Any closer and Beelzebub might have stabbed him. They were still tempted to, frankly, but they squashed the impulse down.

They still needed to work _with_ Gabriel. Lucifer would have their head if they discorporated him over a mere insult. If a rookie insulted them, that was one thing, but a Duke? 

Not worth the hassle. 

_Still incredibly rude, coming in here like he owns the place. Letting Crowley and his dumb bird drip blood on my floor._

They gave the feather pen on their desk a quick look.

_Gifting me a fucking_ secondary _quill? Not that I give a single shit, but he’s still got half his bloody primaries intact. And he gives it to me with a clear invasion of my space._

Beelzebub wasn’t sure if the feather was a statement that Gabriel already saw himself as superior, or if he was saying ‘you’re next.’

Either way, the notion was ludicrous. 

“What exzzactly isz better about this?” Beelzebub gestured down to Crowley, still shuddering with obvious pain at their feet.

Gabriel pulled out a silver remote and held it up. “He’s harmless now. Much better behaved. Doesn’t run his mouth.”

“He was harmless _before._ He’sz one of _ourszz,_ Gabriel. Who careszz how he acts or what shit he saysz, so long as he doeszz his job?”

“Wrong. Crowley is _mine._ His deeds are my deeds now. That’s not up for debate.” 

Gabriel pressed a button on the remote and the numbers on the collar decreased. Crowley slowly relaxed, but his breathing was still laboured from the pain. Gabriel slid the remote into the inside pocket of his coat and patted it gently with a small smile.

Crowley looked equal parts horrified and defeated, which Beelzebub normally enjoyed seeing on other demons, but on Crowley it was entirely unsatisfying, pathetic and difficult to witness without feeling a twinge of the worst thing imaginable. 

Complicity.

That was a thought most demons ended up chalking up to the tried and true phrase, ‘better him than me.’

_But how easy_ would _it be, exactly, for him to do this to_ any _of us? How many of these collars does Gabriel possess? Of all the bloody individuals to put it on, why waste it on_ Crowley? 

“That’szz… not really normal.”

Gabriel’s relentless enthusiasm was unfortunately unthwarted by their lack of positive responses thus far. He responded with enough pride in his tone that Beelzebub was sure the intended meaning of their comment was lost in translation somehow. "I am not _aiming_ for mediocrity, Beelzebub. I plan to win the war.”

They opened their mouth to interject and were cut off before they were able to say anything.

“None of that’s important, Beelz. Not why I’m here.” Gabriel walked over to Crowley and gripped his hair, pulling the lesser demon to his feet. Violet eyes glanced over a shoulder at Beelzebub. “Follow me. I’ve got something to show you.”

Beelzebub wanted to sit back down at their desk and lock their door behind Gabriel, but if the Duke had technology capable of incapacitating demons, they knew it would be their head on a pike if they didn’t keep a close eye on the situation.

_What beautiful fucking timing. Biggest assignment ever is gearing up, routine work backed up like always, and now I have to babysit an enthusiastic rookie recruit with a title he shouldn’t have been able to earn for another fucking millennium._

_When we win this war I’m taking at least a century off. Lucifer can bite me._

They followed Gabriel down the hall. Crowley was following too close behind the Duke, so Beelzebub trailed behind them both, noting that demons were not only parting ways for Gabriel as if he were the Lord of Hell himself, but also that many of them seemed to _fear_ the former Archangel with equal intensity. Gabriel's familiar swooped ahead and would wait for them to pass before continuing down the halls. 

Beelzebub really did not like how it seemed to be watching them. 

_It's just a stupid fucking bird. A menacing looking stupid fucking bird, but that's it._

A few turned corners into their trek, Beelzebub noticed that Crowley appeared to have a tramp stamp scarred into his lower back. A gross abomination of Enochian script, delicately woven together to mean ‘Gabriel’s slave: Crowley.’ 

_Fucking puke._ Really _, Gabriel!? The automatic magical shock collar wasn’t enough? That explains the stench, at least. He must’ve used holy water; not much else out there scars demons that badly._

Beelzebub did _not_ want to think about how Gabriel had managed that one. The smell was too strong, too recent to be from when Gabriel had still been an Archangel. 

They didn't have to keep from thinking about it very long. The 'how' became clear as soon as they reached their destination - a solid-walled cell in the back of a high-security cell block. It was a section of Hell infrequently used, intended more for the eventual ever-looming Big One; the war to end all wars. There were no stray demons here, only a vast section of empty cells intended for Heaven's most powerful and threatening. 

Gabriel waved a hand and a metal door appeared. He opened it to reveal an angel sitting inside, huddled up against the far wall, arms wrapped around his knees. Gabriel snapped and the angel's chains - Enochian cuffs built to restrain the powers of any occult or ethereal being - attached to the floor on either side of him, yanking the angel forward and forcing him to scramble to kneel instead. 

_Which incompetent paper pusher over in the armory gave him_ those? 

While it was true that any Duke _could_ check Enochian cuffs out, no one ever _did._ Then again, most were new enough to the whole demon gig that they probably didn't know they _existed._

Not the ex-Archangel fucking Gabriel, though. He had been there to sign the paperwork after the rebellion. 

_Another thing to keep an eye on. Fantastic._

The entire cell _reeked_ of holy water. A small upturned bowl was discarded in the corner of the room. Beelzebub felt themselves relax a miniscule amount knowing there wasn't anything left of the stuff - and wouldn't be as long as the angel stayed handcuffed.

The angel was a sickeningly fluffy blonde, dressed in beiges, tans and a light blue shirt. His blue eyes glared at Gabriel, glanced at Beelzebub warily, and finally settled on Crowley - where his gaze became soft and gentle, concerned. Crowley’s expression toward the angel was nearly a mirror, equally worried, desperate and sad.

_Satan help me. He's kidnapped Crowley's fucking_ better half.

There had been rumors for quite some time, that he'd gone soft for an angel. Exactly who that angel _was_ was debated, and plenty had bets on if Crowley had really gone soft or if he was actually tempting the angel to Fall.

_He certainly made_ one _angel Fall._

"So? What do you think? Pretty impressive, huh?" Gabriel gestured toward the angel, eyebrows raised and waiting for the acknowledgement of his hard work. 

_He_ actually _thinks this idea is something to be proud of? Impressively idiotic, more like._

“It iszz that.” Beelzebub spoke slowly, drawing the words out as they watched Gabriel’s familiar swoop into the cell and perch on a pipe in the corner. “A word, Gabriel. Privately.” 

“Of course.” Gabriel gave Crowley a sharp look, then pointed at the wall opposite the angel. Crowley slunk over to the spot like a dejected puppy before kneeling in place. 

A terrible look on someone so expressively lanky. 

Still not at all satisfying to witness.

A snap echoed across the walls - Gabriel securing Crowley by chaining his collar to the wall. He leaned over Crowley and spoke, a false innocence in his voice that was all threat. 

“I expect you to be silent and still. I don’t need to remind you what will happen if you disobey, do I?” Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at the angel, who was glaring at the Duke.

A moment of panic flashed across Crowley’s face. He shook his head, then let his eyes close as he fully settled into what was _clearly_ a very familiar pose. His head lowered respectfully, hands behind his back, knees spread apart roughly shoulder width.

Vulnerable, terrified, submissive perfection.

_Disgusting._

“I’ll obey, master.”

“Very good.” The tension in Gabriel’s form slipped away. He patted Crowley on the head briefly before turning and walking past Beelzebub, exiting the cell.

Beelzebub resisted the instinct to shiver from revulsion. They waved a hand at the metal door and shut it with a clang that echoed through the hall. Their movement toward Gabriel was forceful, rigid with fury.

“Thiszz is _not_ what we ordered you to do, Gabriel.” Their flies swarmed more quickly as they seethed, barely controlled just enough to not ruin everything and _take the smug dipshit down_ right where he stood _that very instant._

_Lucifer is going to discorporate me for backing this incompetent-_

“Look, Beelz,” Gabriel did not look at all concerned. His words were casual and dismissive, infuriatingly so. “This is only part one of my plans, here.”

“Do _not_ ‘look Beelzzzz’ me, Gabriel. You were ordered to take Heaven down _from the top._ That’szz not Michael, or Uriel, or Raphael, or anyone else who matterszz!” Beelzebub fumed, then deliberately lowered their voice and slowed their movements. “You can’t just capture whoever you pleaszze, and you can't use rebellion truce equipment! You are going to pisszz them off and start the war _early!"_

Gabriel raised a single brow. "They were on the approved weapons list."

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. "For the Great Plan, or if _they_ ever break their side of the truce. _Not_ whatever this is. Who the fuck is that guy? What’szz his rank? What iszz he? Seraph?”

“No.”

“Cherub?”

“No.”

“Throne? Please tell me you kickstarted the war over someone _remotely worth it,_ Gabriel. Someone from the first sphere?” Gabriel did not answer, which was answer enough for Beelzebub to know it would've been 'no.' The incompetent Duke still did not seem at all concerned. “Or at least the top of the second? Dominion?”

“He’s a Principality, Beelz.” 

_Of course he is. Crowley couldn't've ever fucked anyone who_ actually _mattered._

"You put uszz on Heaven's radar over a fucking _Principality?_ Did you not _hear_ the part of our plan that involved the words _'from the top'?"_

Gabriel waved his hand dismissively. “Nobody in Heaven gives a shit about _Aziraphale,_ they aren’t starting any wars early over _him._ Trust me.” He spat the angel's name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Then _why,_ may I ask, _is he_ _here?”_ Beelzebub glared. They were getting pretty close to being willing to risk the possibility of discorporation from Lucifer. 

“He had Crowley.”

“He had Crowley?” Beelzebub repeated incredulously. Gabriel had said it like it explained everything. It did not. “That’szz not helping your case, _Gabe._ This whole thing with Crowley? It lookszz pretty fucking perszzonal.”

Gabriel sighed and actually dared to roll his eyes. “If Aziraphale had Crowley, then Michael knew about it. Michael was the only other Archangel on the committee with me for our little Trojan project, remember? And she’s the highest Archangel on your priority list, is she not?”

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes, their sibilants buzzing in annoyance. “This is starting to sound like an early war again, Gabriel.”

“Michael can’t start a war over disappearances related to a classified project. Not without gathering evidence to present the case herself. She’ll come looking for Aziraphale and Crowley, and when she does, she’ll be _alone._ Then once we have Michael-”

Gabriel’s gaze snapped up, looking above and beyond Beelzebub’s head, at the metal cell door. “Wait a fucking second,” he growled furiously, snapping his fingers to open the cell and storm toward Crowley. 

Gabriel’s familiar flapped its wings in the corner of the room.

“I ordered you to _shut up!”_

Crowley flinched at the sudden slam of the metal door, and at Gabriel yelling at him, but Beelzebub didn’t see any evidence Crowley had moved or said anything at all. 

Of course, it was more than _believable_ that Crowley might’ve tried to say something, considering the-

_Uck. It’s disgusting to even think about._

Considering the _love,_ the look of affection they’d seen in _both_ Crowley’s and the angel’s-

_Aziraphale? What a ridiculous mouthful; it sounds more like a highly dangerous chemical, or a human prescription drug, not a name. . . stupid angels._

Aziraphale hadn’t dared make a sound. He spoke all manner of threats and death wishes with those pretty blue eyes of his, but if _he_ wasn’t willing to disobey an order that hadn’t even been _given_ to him, then it made even less sense that Crowley would have.

_Unless the angel is silenced, too. Or was ordered not to speak earlier. But even still, he’s acting far more defiant than Crowley._

Something wasn’t adding up here. The broken ones don’t break rules _before_ the ones who haven’t had their hope crushed to bits yet.

“Please, master. I will do better. I’m sorry.”

Crowley apologized profusely and denied nothing. Aziraphale continued to stare angrily at Gabriel while giving Beelzebub wary looks out of the corner of his eyes. 

Gabriel grabbed Crowley’s hair and wrenched his head back. “You think I can’t hear you in here? Were you not listening to me when I warned everyone in the hall, you worthless snake?”

Crowley glanced briefly up at the familiar, shuddered, then turned his pleading gaze back to Gabriel. “I heard it, master. I’ll obey, even if I’m alone, I promise.”

The angel broke his gaze from Gabriel and Crowley to look directly at Beelzebub, imploring, and after a second there it was, hopeful. 

Beelzebub ignored it; there was nothing that could be done. They needed Gabriel, and no matter how bizarre this whole thing between him and Crowley was, it didn't seem to be up for discussion.

Gabriel didn’t even seem to notice how fucking weird it was. 

_To be fair, he’s high enough ranked now that he could make it normal._

Beelzebub was glad they were high enough on the food chain that nobody would _dare_ try such a thing on _them._

“Gabriel,” Beelzebub sighed, “you are aware I have other work you interrupted? Pleaszze get on with it. Are you inviting me to a torture session? What is this?”

“No, not today. I have work to get to as well.” Gabriel reached inside his coat, and Crowley tensed in obvious, sudden pain. If not for the short chain running from his collar to the wall, he would have easily been doubled over from it. For all the twitching and spasming his muscles did, Crowley merely gritted his teeth. He made next to no sound at all. 

Aziraphale’s face fell in horror. He averted his gaze.

Gabriel pulled the hand free and gestured at the door. 

They exited once more, leaving one desolate angel and one tormented demon behind in the cell. Gabriel opted to follow Beelzebub out and close the door by hand. 

Beelzebub did not give him time nor space to react. The second the door shut fully, they whirled around and backed Gabriel into it.

“Listen, Gabriel. I have no idea what this is, with you, Crowley, and Azziraphale. But it lookszz personal. You were ordered to do a job, and if your fucking around off the clock bringszz even the _slightest_ ire from Heaven, I will march you into Lucifer’szz office and _you’ll_ take the hit and be the one begging for hiszz mercy. _Not me.”_ With each emphasized word, they jabbed an accusing finger into Gabriel's chest. “Iszz that clear?”

Gabriel took firm hold of Beelzebub’s shoulders and slowly pressed, forcing them back a couple steps. He straightened his tie and his coat, as if Beelzebub’s contact had actually managed to dishevel his appearance, which it certainly had not.

“Plenty clear, Beelz. But it won’t happen. I _just_ Fell. I was _just_ up there. I know what I’m doing.”

_Yeah. And you Falling isn't_ at all _proof that you've got_ no idea _what their priorities are._

Beelzebub and Gabriel locked eyes, challenging each other for several long, silent seconds before Beelzebub growled out a response.

“Fine. Show me the real progresszz when you have it, Gabriel.”

They didn’t stick around to see what Gabriel decided to do or say next. They turned on their heels and stalked down the hall. The eventual crowds parted ways as they made their way back to their office with a scowl on their face, their flies moving erratically in the air around them. 

No one bothered them the rest of the day. It was a blessing and a curse, but they’d take stunningly boring report duty over whatever the Heaven this new job was - overseeing Gabriel’s bullshit, it seemed - any day of the week.

This was going to be a long fucking war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I really appreciate all the comments and feedback so much!
> 
> For the time being, Invalidations will be going on another haitus. This is partly due to life getting in the way, but also because I strongly feel this story has a much higher chance at being completed and not being left on the WIP pile if I discontinue posting until the rough draft for the entirety of Invalidations is complete. I have the timeline; the plotting is all done. It just needs to get written, and doing that while simultaneously posting has just proven a bit too difficult for me with how my life has been going lately.
> 
> This means no Invalidations updates for a while, but it means once it's back, it'll be back for good and it'll continue to have regular updates all the way through to the final conclusion!
> 
> If you'd like updates on when I'll begin posting again, please consider joining [The Repossessed](https://discord.gg/nHNHAyyqBy) Discord server.
> 
> We're a Discord server for all of us Repoverse, Descent Into Perdition and other dark GO fans out there to collect, share fic recommendations, chat, stream artwork creation, and hang out! We occasionally have movie nights and live readings as well! We are an entirely 18+, choose to warn server, so fans of dark works can speak freely about their ideas. 
> 
> We are very much hoping you'll join us in creating a little community! If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me on Discord. (Or via any of the contact methods listed on my profile) I'm Latromi #9997.


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